


Kibo Island Adventure - Resonance

by R_S



Category: One Piece
Genre: Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Carnival, Climate Survival, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Island's got a Devil's Fruit, M/M, Massage, Other, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Timeskip, Storytelling, Touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 99,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S/pseuds/R_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope's Carnival Day 1: Hina knows. Robin's composed. Hope's Museum is locking up, and Jozu stands before the barrel of a gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resonance of Kibo

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own One Piece. All rights belong to the wise and powerful Eiichiro Oda.
> 
> If you are reading Kibo Island Adventure for the first time, Hi!!! :) You're in the right place!! Everything in italics is Chapter Summery. The meat of the story begins on chapter2 :) The whole story (so far) is here. Please enjoy, and thanks for reading!

_Immediately after departing Sky Island, the Strawhats discover a Winter Island. It will take 12 days for the log to set. Nami doesn't want to think about the costs involved, however, as they make arrangements for their stay they run into a bit of luck. Wh-WHO owns Kibo Island?_

_Room allocation results in Zoro and Luffy sharing, and doesn't this town seem a little..._

_Luffy won't let Zoro have him this way. No matter how much he would like to._

_Zoro's really hung over... and Sanji is pleased to see an all too familiar face._

_The crew starts to learn about this illustrious island. Countdown to Hope's Carnival: Two days._

_Night falls early on Kibo, and after a slight altercation, Luffy decides it's best that he and Zoro take advantage of an offer for a room._

_Dracule is not impressed with Shanks' inebriation, even if he has his first mate to look after him. Zoro and Luffy have yet to leave the restaurant, and Nami vows to beat the hell out of them when the sun comes up._

_More than one set of captain and first mate tangle up together during the Long Night on Kibo._

_The Long Night on Kibo continues, and one more pirate arrives on the island - unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome._

_Luffy makes Zoro sing, and Mihawk says a few words about Hope's Carnival._

_Invitations! Luffy and Shanks cross paths._

_Tension mounts on the last day before Hope's Carnival. The Strawhats set out for Square Door, Yasopp is drunk, and the Royals are making landfall._

_Luffy and Robin are brought to their breaking points. Dragon speaks, and Vivi smiles._

_The Strawhats split up at Square Door, and Zoro convinces Luffy that he does not need protecting._

_Ace and Shanks cross paths. Luffy and Zoro can't seem to catch a break. And Yasopp waits for his son's arrival._

_Kibo's magnetics flux down for Hope's Carnival, and always has some effect on Rookies who find themselves on the island for the first time._

_Marines and Royals always arrive on the same day before Hope's Carnival. Smoker exchanges a few words with Dragon. Marco can't wait any longer. Bepo is worried about Law, and Tsuru takes up a seat at Whitebeard's side._

_The Phoenix sings. Father and son share some whiskey and words. Shanks gives a speech, and the first mates smile._

_Nami clings to the nakama nearest to her. Tashigi draws blood. Whitebeard has a few words with his sons, and Zoro answers his captain's challenge._

_Waking up on the first day of Hope's Carnival._

_Hawkeyes has a game with Jozu. Tsuru is in plain-clothes for the Carnival. Law's woken up, and Ace and Marco meet up with the other Strawhats over breakfast._

_The first day of Hope's Carnival is underway! Ace struggles in the snow. Tashigi remembers. Usopp laughs. Luffy and Zoro find themselves a quiet place, and Nami gets a little girl time._

_Law contemplates overdose. The Revolutionaries come clean. Mihawk reports some late arrivals, and Luffy breaks up the show._

_Luffy? The prodigy's master and enemy meet, the black ticket. The snipers snipe, and the Eggplant is out on errands._

_A good warm coat, Nami is a Royal Pirate. Perfection. It's bad for the heart, to laugh with Devils._

_No smoking in Hope's Kitchen! Shanks and Mihawk are drunk again, and Sabo stands at the edge of the parade._

_Everybody needs a partner._

_Pirates unwelcome in the Royal Court. Luffy's not just dreaming anymore, and Ace won't wait for 'later' to come._

_Two drunks in the Curios District, Chopper's awake, Luffy's over the moon, and does anyone know what's going on with the Whitebeard Pirates?_

_Jozu's diamond is stronger than glass. “Are you cold, Hawkeyes?” and Luffy gets buried under a bunch of clothes._

_Sanji unqualified to cook in Kibo's Kitchens. Two Shadows, and one blood-orange dress._

_First blood is spilled on Kibo's Earth. So many ways to count this curse. Sabo and Robin are ready for the ball._

_Dragon has arrived at Hope's Museum. There's perfect skin at the Dock Hotel. Luffy suffers Kibo's changing magnetics, and yes; it was eleven years ago._


	2. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece. All rights belong to Oda.

### A Warm Welcome

### ~~~~*~~~~

Fluffy white snow, dry as a bone, wafts about on the wind like pale silk. Great drifts piling against the cabin wall, and the deck is a sheet of salty sea-ice. There are crisscrosses of ice crystals on the inside of the porthole window, and the pipes of Sanji’s kitchen sink have frozen over, one solid droplet sparkling at the spout. The Merry is not equipped with heating, or cooling for that matter, but thanks to their recent visit into the sky, Usopp has a handy solution for the sudden crush of chill weather that had descended upon them.

Three Flame Dials sit on the floor, their happily dancing flames casting shadows across the gathered crew-members' cheeks just like when they sit around a camping fire. Hands held out to the warmth, Nami smiles, blanket over her shoulders as she leans against Robin. The historian has a book in her hands, and Chopper is dozing in her lap. The little reindeer is not bothered in the least by the cold, his thick brown fur more than sufficient to keep him comfortable. Sanji’s teeth chatter a little, huddled in his own blanket. It isn’t surprising, the cook’s lean frame doesn’t provide him with much extra body heat, and he’s always gotten cold easy. The Strawhat captain, bouncy, boisterous, full of energy… it’s unclear if he’s understood that it was cold inside the room as he spears marshmallows on the end of a long skewer to roast them over the open flames. He wore only his trademark red vest, with those gleaming gold buttons, denim shorts rolled up to just under his knees – frayed to fluffy shreds because he’s always crawling about or getting himself stuck or dumped in the sea, or in some kind of fight.

“I hope the sea doesn’t freeze over.” Usopp says with more than a little worry in his voice, shifting his legs that have gone numb from being crossed too long.

“That is highly unlikely.” Nami says, but as soon as she said it she shivered a little. This was the Grand Line… a sea where ‘unlikely’ and ‘likely’ or even ‘real’ or ‘impossible’ meant absolutely nothing. ANYTHING could happen!

“The hull would tear apart before the entire sea froze around us.” Robin assured the Strawhat sniper, blithely turning a page in her book.

“I wish you'd quit saying such scary stuff!” Usopp sputtered, but without any real hope that the dark haired woman would listen. That was just how she spoke.

“Why’s it so damn cold anyway?” Sanji rubbed his hands up and down his trousers to try and get the freezing prickle on his skin to go away. “Are we getting close to a Winter Island?”

Nami’s eyes drifted down to the Log Pose strapped to her wrist. The ship was on course with the next island, the navigator confirmed, but how long it would be to make it there, or if this moment was just one of the many temperature variations of a finicky sea… she could not hope to know.

“A Winter Island!” An euphoric sigh slips from their captain’s lips. “I wanna build a snow man again! We haven’t had a chance to since the island where we found Chopper.”

Robin giggled. “Perhaps you will get the chance soon, Sencho-san.”

**

Snow and ice and wind and sleet and fucking darkness! Zoro tipped the last few drops of sake into his mouth from the bottle he’d brought up to the crow’s nest with him. The cold didn’t exactly hurt him, but it was a sufficient enough annoyance to keep him awake. Too often had he fallen asleep in the cold to wake up unable to move his hands… he’d been damn lucky he never got frostbite. He’d seen it happen to others he’d traveled with. A few months after he parted ways with Yosaku and Johnny back before he became a pirate... he took up with a group heading up into the hills of some island, hunting a group of bandits for the bounty so he could buy his way onto a ship that would take him somewhere else. Back then ‘somewhere else’ was fine by him. No nakama to worry about, no captain to fish out of the sea because the boy sunk like a stone. He sneezed, neck snapping forward.

It was hard to see much around the ship, coldness tended to be accompanied by fog, and fog was bad for scouting. As it was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to see an island fifty feet off the port side, let alone a Marine ship or a rival Pirate vessel before they were set upon… Of course who would be out in this soup hunting for their dumb asses right now.

“Oi!” Zoro leaned over the side of the crow’s nest. Usopp waving to him from down below. “Come on down, Nami says there’s no point freezing up there ‘cause there’s nothing to see!” calls the sniper, and Zoro threw his legs over the side and into the rigging. He sees it then... lights – lots of them, away in the distance right in front of the ship.

“You see that?!” Zoro points, and Usopp looks. It must be land, from the way the lights are grouped together and trail up and get dimmer. The sniper hurries back inside to tell the others as Zoro climbs down to the deck, slipping and sliding on the frozen planking and holding to the rail.

Land... Zoro watches the black choppy swells that strike noisily against their ship’s hull. Spray finding its way up the side and over the railing to freeze on the air, falling like minuscule diamonds onto an already ice-encrusted deck. They had been at sea for almost a full month. The swordsman had been reduced to drinking the cheaper – more sour – sake that the stupid cook usually used only for cooking. Nami’s mikan trees providing their only fresh fruit for the last nine days, and they fished almost twenty-four-hours-a-day because Luffy’s insatiable appetite had rendered them without meat early on. The only things they seemed to have an abundance of were things like rice and flour, and sugary sweet stuff that Zoro wouldn’t touch. A good stiff drink and a plate of greasy bar food – the Swirly-Cook be damned – and he’d be happy. Maybe with Luffy sitting across the table with their legs resting against each other’s…

Zoro shook his head, his three brass earrings clacking. He didn’t know why he kept thinking stuff like that. Luffy wouldn’t do something like that! He wouldn’t do it either! They were Nakama… Captain and Crewman… both of them MEN for fuck sake! ... Merry dipped and ducked on the freezing waters, closer and closer to the next island of their great adventure through the Grand Line.

**

With the fog having been so thick throughout the day, so dense that it covered up the sunlight, none of them realized that the sun had actually gone down. During the night the mist let up a little, and the outline of the island in front of them became sharp and black against a slightly different blackness behind. The chill, however, did not relent, confirming that they had indeed arrived at a Winter Island, and no just that, a Winter island experiencing its own harsh season of Winter. Chopper insisted that everyone bundle up carefully, explaining that the island would likely be much colder than Drum had been for them, because when they had visited the reindeer’s home island, it had actually been in its springtime season.

“You mean… that was warm for you?” Usopp gasped, taking the mothball scented parka Chopper was holding out for him.

“Mmm.” Chopper nodded. Serious ire on his face as he watched his captain bounce up and down at the porthole window. Luffy had yet to change out of his shorts and sleeveless red vest. His sandals clapping together each time he jumped in place with his hands up against the wall.

The doctor shook his head.

“Luffy!” Nami’s fist cracked down across the rubber man’s skull and his nose smacked against the window. Usopp cringed. He knew the navigator’s punch. A punch that could hurt even a man made of rubber. The redhead dropped a thick coat, boots, and long pants down on top of her captain as he sunk to the floor clutching his head.

“We should think about staying in a hotel.” Sanji reasoned, slipping gloves over his cold thin fingers. “Once we figure out how long it might take the Log to charge. These shitty shells won’t keep up forever.”

Nami bit the inside of her lip. Putting all seven of them up in a hotel could be expensive, and they needed to buy food. Sure, they had all that gold below deck, but she wanted to wait to spend it until they found a good dock to repair Merry... if they spent it now? But, Sanji was right, it would be too cold to bunk in for even one night on the Merry. She sighed, silently hoping there might be more treasure somewhere on the island.

 

When the sun got up, and everyone was finally dressed, they docked their ship in the enormous port just in front of a sweep of a dense township. Tall buildings made of stone with wide sloped roofs snaked up a steep incline, paved streets visible between them. Everything looked white under the sheets of ice and snow, and there weren’t many people moving about, but there were lights on in every window, warm and inviting, and the port master – a smiling, portly man with a big black mustache, came right up to their ship, hand on his belly as he laughed.

“Pirates!” he crowed, rosy cheeks and nose from the chill. “Been a while since we’ve had unannounced pirates come right into dock neat as ‘e please! Are ‘e looking for trouble?”

Nami slipped a little on the peer, and the man reached out a hand to steady her. “N-no.” the redhead told him, smiling as he helped her back to her feet. “Actually we’d like to restock, is there a market district in this town?” she asked him.

“Shopping?” he laughed again, slapping his thigh.

Sanji and Zoro were arguing about something, and Nami really wished they’d quit it. Zoro was liable to pull is swords, and with his green hair he was just too recognizable. Sixty Million Beli was pretty tempting for ambitious bounty hunters. At least Luffy had been forced to tie a scarf around his hat, though it made is head look funny.

“Aye! We’ve got some good places. Log sets a little longer in the cold, twelve days, maybe.. two more if the magnetics feel like actin’ up. E’ ship got heat?” he eyed the damages along Merry’s hull, crossing his arms. “Won’t wanna stay out on the water if ‘e don’t.”

“No," Nami admitted sadly. "Are there any cheap places to stay in town?” She asked.

“ ‘ere, I’ll draw ‘e a map.” After settling the dock fee, agreeing that there would be an additional sum if they needed to stay longer than the dozen or so days for their log to set, the crew made their way, carefully, over the ice covered peer and into town.

“Don’t get lost this time, Wandering Moss!”

“It says there’s a hotel along this strip.”

“Ohhoo! Check this out!”

“Oi! who are you calling Wandering Moss, Ero-Cook!”

Nami and Robin led the rest of the crew up the lanes, the navigator painfully aware that they were all only managing to stay together in one group because she had not given out allowances yet. Luffy was already fidgeting. He really couldn’t care less if he had any money on him, and it was only by sheer luck that he stuck so close by when they finally found the entrance to an inn about a quarter mile from the peer.

It looked expensive… it looked VERY expensive. Nami gulped as they stepped out of the freezing snow onto a brightly colored carpet. The air scented with jasmine and orange peel, and bright lights hung down from the ceiling with glass beads strung up high to refract different colors over clean white walls. Brass baggage carts stood against one wall, lined up in neat rows ready for customers next to a long desk. Polished and glimmering keys all hung on their own little hook behind a woman in a green uniform. She smiled brightly as they came inside. “Welcome!”

Nami had half a mind to turn around and walk back out. There was no way they were going to be able to afford this place. The elevator opposite the wall with the carts had a mosaic of colored glass on its doors, and the floor dial looked like it was made of gold. Luffy was gawking at a huge painting of what appeared to be a town square, it was snow-covered, draped with strings of lamps and there were painted figures walking on stills dressed in rich bright colors with beautiful masks on their faces. Sanji and Zoro, having been arguing for a steady twenty minutes, fell silent upon entering the extravagant lobby, Sanji noting that it was possibly the cleanest place they had ever been directed to when Nami asked for something ‘cheap’. Chopper and Usopp were ogling the lights with beaded glasswork when Nami shivered.

“There’s no way we can afford this!” she hissed to Robin.

The dark woman patted the navigator’s shoulder consolingly. “It can’t hurt to ask what the price of a room would be, right?”

The young woman behind the counter, blond hair braided up above her ears, kept smiling. Her eyes were as green as her suit. She bowed to Nami and Robin as they came up. “Welcome to Kibo Island.”

Robin smiled. “Kibo?”

“Why yes, it is an old name, it means 'Hope'.”

“That seems a strange name for an island.” Robin observes. Behind them Usopp was wrestling with Luffy as he tried to climb up a decorative trestle for a closer look at the lights.

“Yes, some people might think so, but it makes sense if you think about it.” Smiled the young woman. “It requires quite a lot of hope to live here – where the cold lasts so long, and there is only one short month without snow. Long ago, as I understand, people used to go mad from the lack of warmth or comfort… starvation, horrible things. Hope gave them the strength to go on. Now we celebrate the winter, with a great festival.” She indicated the enormous painting on the wall. “You have come at quite a time.” She smiled. “Hope's Carnival will begin in just three days! But, you look tired, how many rooms would you like?”

“Ah.” Nami’s face fell a little. “We don’t have much money right now… how much are your rooms.”

“We will turn no one away.” The woman smiled, so young, and so gay. “How much can you afford?”

Nami counted out what she had, and Robin turned out her own purse. “Three thousand beli? And we’ll need rooms for at twelve days minimum, for our Log Pose to reset for the next island…”

“Oh! But you are travelers of the sea?” the girl's exuberance was infectious, and Nami found herself blushing, telling her without hesitating that they were pirates, as she brought out a large book and began turning pages. “I have never been at sea!” she said. “But working here, I hear lots of stories. Marines and pirates and merchants, or anyone who needs a bed. Our owner is quite clear that it matters not-at-all who comes in out of the cold.” Her finger slid down a page. “Normally rooms are two thousand beli apiece for each week.” She explained. “But I’m sure we can figure out something, there are seven of you, yes? Our rooms are large enough for only two or three, I’m afraid, so you would need at least three rooms… for two weeks…” she muttered, stepping back to take three keys from the hooks behind.

Nami couldn’t help being slightly suspicious… three rooms at two-thousand beli per week… that would be twelve-thousand beli… and this woman was allowing them to have them for three-thousand? A quarter of the price? She hadn’t even had to haggle! Robin seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“Who is the owner of this establishment?” She asked kindly.

“Oh.” The woman pulled a second key from the wall, searching around for a third. “He is a great man, handsome and gentle and caring! He came to our island when I was just a child, and no matter what some people might think, he protects us. This hotel, the hospital, half our town’s restaurants, the docks… he owns them, Red-hair Shanks.”

The bottom fell out of Nami’s stomach. “Shanks?” she whispered.

“One of the four emperors of the sea?” Robin asks.

The woman laughed, pulling a third key down. “He is a man of great kindness” She laid the keys down on the counter. “Your rooms will be on the third floor. Please enjoy your stay with us!”

 

### New Arrivals

### ~~~~*~~~~

Nami didn’t even hear Zoro and Sanji growling at each other as the lift took them up to the third floor. She couldn’t even feel herself holding the cold metal keys for their rooms. In fact, it wasn’t until everyone was standing in the hallway that she was shaken back to reality when Usopp put hand on her shoulder to ask if she was feeling alright.

“Huh? What… Yes, I’m fine.” She stammered.

“Ok.” Usopp raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’re up here, so what’s the situation with the rooms, are we all getting our own?”

“No, we’re sharing.” The navigator said, squaring her shoulders for the task at hand. “We’ve got three rooms, Robin and I are sharing, so you five need to decide who’s sleeping with whom.” Zoro actually blushed. Damn sea-witch! She could have worded that a hell of a lot better. Thankfully nobody noticed him.

“I am NOT sharing with Zoro!” Sanji stated with a flat finality accentuated by a heavy thud of his foot onto the carpet.

“Suits me fine, Eyebrow!”

Usopp put his hand over his face.

“Don’t make me have to decide for you!” Nami shouted, bristling at the boys’ lack of decision making abilities.

“I’ll bunk with Zoro!” Luffy volunteered, “Sanji can have the third room with Usopp and Chopper?”

Nami thought about it for a moment, because she always had the absolute final say in these matters, for security’s sake. Luffy was notorious for being rambunctious, so sticking him with either Chopper or Usopp was a risk… playing tag around the room causing damage to furniture, or sacrificing innocent pillows – which always led to expensive reparations to be paid to the establishment… that would probably not be an issue with this place… but…

“How did we pay for a room here, anyway?” Zoro said suddenly, tapping at a solid gold door handle next to his katana. “This has the be the ritziest Inn on the Grand Line… I thought we were broke?”

“Not entirely.” Robin told the swordsman. “And it seems we have had rather a lot of luck, because of the particular owner of this establishment.”

“Owner?”

“Oh, who cares?” Sanji moaned, “If we’re all sure who’s with who, I want to take a shower already!”

**

Nami sat at an ornate desk, running one hand up and down polished wood, and touching the feathered edge of a pen that rested neatly in its metal catch. The walls around her were soft blue, trimmed at the floor and ceiling with pale gold. Two beds were across from her on the far wall, piled with pillows and fluffy quilts, on each bed there had been a welcome gift that had included, among the normal soaps and little appreciatory messages regarding their patronage, a map of town complete with lists of special sites to see, places to eat and shop, renowned museums...

Robin came out of the bath already dressed, with her hair up in a towel. “Is everything alright, Miss Navigator?” she asked, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. “You’ve been very quiet.”

The redhead took a deep breath. “Shanks.” She said. “I just can’t… I don’t get how one of the four emperors can own this hotel, this place…. I mean…”

“It’s not all that unusual that he would.” Robin said, giggling at her nakama’s discomfort. “The Grand Line is a dangerous place, especially for islands not affiliated with the world government. In those cases, for protection, townships or very small kingdoms will make deals or pay tributes to powerful or well known individuals to protect their interests. Sometimes they are royalty of other islands, sometimes not. Sometimes even pirates.”

Nami nodded, but that was only half of what was bothering her. “Should we tell Luffy?” she asked. “That… that Shanks is in charge on this island.”

Robin thought. She knew that Luffy had gotten his straw hat from the famous red-haired pirate when he was just a boy. Their captain had been very animated and passionate when he told his tale, explaining how the great man had rescued him from a sea king, sacrificing his own arm in the process. “It wouldn’t change anything, him knowing.” Robin said, running a brush through her hair. “I mean, it’s not like Shanks is here on the island.”

This was very true. Nami nodded, shaking her head before hitching a smile onto her face. “Can you believe we get to stay here for two weeks? and for only three thousand beli!” she squealed.

Robin laughed.

**

Zoro was in hell. Just in hell. What the hell?! Usopp and Chopper waved as they followed Sanji off in the direction of their room, and Luffy had taken hold of Zoro’s hand to rocket towards the other end of the third floor hallway. He was still trying to figure out how he had suddenly found himself sharing a room alone with his captain when the younger man fit the key to the lock and opened the door.

It was an incredible room… just like the rest of the place. How had Nami afforded a room - three rooms? Theirs was enormous, walls painted a rich plum, two deep mattresses sat against one wall. Each draped with dark chocolate comforters, and more pillows than the swordsman had ever seen in his entire life. There were two paintings on the wall, one over each headboard. One was a ship at sea, pitching and turning on storm-stirred waves. The other an inland lake with dark green trees that hung low over the swirls of colorful water. Both masterfully done, residing in golden frames of much meticulous decoration. There was a door opposite the beds, which must have led to the bath, another that opened out onto a snow-covered balcony. One window next to that, looking over the city. Thick curtains pushed to one side. There was no place for a fire, but a warm breeze issued out of a vent near the floor. It was… the best room he’d ever been in…

“Oi, Luffy?”

The younger pirate was already bouncing up and down on one of the beds, joyously laughing and asking Zoro if he could believe this place. No. He couldn’t believe it, but the look on his captain’s face made him melt… melt? Zoro shook himself.

“I’m gonna go find a bar.” He said, running his fingers through his green hair.

Luffy bounced once more before landing on his feet on the carpet. “Okay, I’ll come with! I’m starving!” Throwing open the door, he was met by Chopper who had been about to knock.

“Allowance!” squeaked the Zoan, handing both Luffy and Zoro their own small wad of belis.

“Yea! Thanks, Chopper! We’re going to get food! Wanna come?”

The little doctor shook his head. “Sanji wants help figuring out the shopping list and then we’re gonna head out to see the district!” He seemed very excited about it, they all were, happy to be back on land in a new town with their allowances clamoring to be spent on whatever they wanted. Well, a little of what they wanted anyway.

“Okay!” Luffy stretched a hand back to take Zoro’s, “Looks like it’s just Zoro and me!” he beamed, hurrying down the hallway after quickly locking their door.

**

Zoro couldn’t get his brain around this town. He’d never seen such prosperity, and such… what was it… happiness? Usually when they made landfall the first thing that happened was someone shouting that they were pirates. Then came the running, the fighting, the hiding and scraping, the slinking from one dark alleyway to another, until he could find a bar with poor enough lighting that he could squeeze in and get drunk without being bothered. Not all islands were like that, of course, but most of them were. But NONE of them were like this! Nobody cared that he was carrying three katana, or that his captain was shouting about one amazingly-cool-thing after another. They dipped in and out of shops, and the merchants smiled and waved, and wished them a ‘good afternoon’ weather they bought anything or not. Zoro asked for the directions to the nearest bar, and the man in the street called him ‘sir’ and helped him!

Something bad was going to happen to them. Zoro just knew... something horrifically bad was going to happen to them…

“Oi, Zoro, come check this out!”

Oh, if those were not the magic words for disaster… Zoro hurried through the snow to see what Luffy was pointing at, but it wasn’t impending doom, it was a poster. In three day’s time there would be a festival, the seventy-eighth annual winter festival of Kibo Island. “Kibo… Hope?” Zoro brushed some snow off the top of the paper, the image looked just like the painting in the main office of the hotel they had just taken up in.

“We have to go!” Luffy was quivering with excitement, his eyes all big and round. “Ne, Zoro?”

“What, you can’t go by yourself?”

“That’s no fun, Zoro’s gatta come with me!” The two men glared at each other in the snowy street for just a moment, until Luffy's face split with a dazzling grin. “He-he!”

“What?” Zoro shot at his captain as the younger man turned on his heal and started to walk off in the direction of the bar. “What was that laugh?”

“ ‘cause Zoro’s gonna go with me to the fair!” Luffy called over his shoulder.

“When did that get decided!”

**

The bar, like all the other places in town, sparkled. A long sweeping stretch of glass studded with gold and steal frame separated the barkeep from the drinking floor. There were many patrons already there, sat in bench seats or on stools. Chatting, drinking, laughing, eating. Nobody was fighting though, and that seemed a little unnatural given the their previous experiences in rooms where alcohol and people coexisted. Removing the outer layer of their warm clothing Luffy and Zoro made their way inside, taking a seat at one of the back bench tables.

“Good evening sirs!” a bubbly girl with dark hair appeared at their table almost as soon as they had sat down. “What can I get for you?”

“Sake.” Grunted Zoro.

“Lots of it?” she inquired, which made the green haired pirate raise an eyebrow. “Roronoa Zoro?” she added slyly.

The swordsman’s eyes flew wide, and he was up on the seat in a flash, Wado in his hands flashing even in the low light.

Giggling… Giggling?

Some of the nearer patrons turned to look at the man standing up on his seat, but didn’t stare. They soon returned to what they were doing. The girl had her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry!” she gasped, laughing uncontrollably. Luffy looked rather stunned as Zoro sheathed his swords and slid back down into the bench across from him. “I…” the girl cleared her throat, trying to control a smile that kept stretching across her face. “I had heard you love to drink.” She told him, and then she bowed her head. “And for Monkey D Luffy... Meat, eh?” she asked, winking.

“Yea!” and the Strawhat captain couldn’t help his own toothy grin.

“Lots of it?” she added. When Luffy nodded she pattered away to the barkeep to give their orders to the cook.

“Luffy.” Zoro leaned across the table so he could whisper to his captain, staring at the back of their waitress as she leaned over the glass partition. “I donno about this island, there’s something…”

Luffy had leaned in also, but instead of listening, he kissed his swordsman on the cheek.

“Oi?!?” Zoro flung himself against the back of the bench.

“Relax!” Luffy told him as the girl hurried back over to their table with a try of chicken legs and two unopened bottles of top-quality Sake. She placed two glasses down on the table before laying out the rest.

“Enjoy, and our Owner would like you to know that there will be no charge for your meals this evening – please order as much as you like!” Another bright smile, and Zoro really was getting scarred now.

“Owner?” he asked. “Who’s the owner?”

The girl giggled again. “A friend of the Strawhat Pirates!” and she hurried off, taking orders and clearing away empty glasses from other tables as she went.

Luffy tore into one of the chicken legs, cooked to tender deliciousness. “Mmm! Zoro, you gatta try this!” But Zoro was eyeing the sake bottles that had been brought. Still sealed with wax, no discoloration on the glass that he could see. This place was too good to be true… and Zoro was no fool. Nothing is free and grand… free is… well – it’s free… Grand is usually a trap. Free and grand? Not on the Grand Line. Luffy didn't seem all that worried though, and was chomping down, already halfway through his plate of chicken. “You gonna open that or just stare at it?” he mocked his swordsman.

Zoro wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Wasn’t sure this was the kind of place he wanted to get drunk in. His eyes wandered off towards the bar, and his heart turned over and stopped. All the color draining out of his face. Over at the bar… at the bar – his… his RIVAL… the shichibukai… Dracule Mihawk?!

The entire establishment erupted around Luffy and Zoro, cheers and applause as the barman picked up a baby den den and spoke into it. “Ladies and Gentlemen.” He cried, bowing towards those nearest to him. “Countdown to Hope’s Carnival is now three days!”

More cheers, whistles. A couple on a table across from them kissed.

“Now, I don’t know if everyone will be able to attend this year – if you can’t…” he gave a pretend sob over the little snail in his fist. “But! We do have some unexpected visitors I would like to formally welcome!” he went on, “First! All the way from the Dark Castle. The man who's eyes have made him both feared and famous across the Six Seas... Hawky!”

The shichibukai put his face into one hand.

“Hawky?” Zoro and Luffy both said together, sputtering with laughter amid cheers from the locals.

“And! And this must be kept absolutely secret… SECRET!” the barkeep said with mock seriousness, with one fist in the air. “A man who is the TOP of the list! The most dangerous! The most wicked! The most terrifying demon to grace the world! The man who walks with bones of the innocent crunching under his feet!”

They couldn’t help it. Both captain and swordsman were leaning forward in their seats as the barkeep’s voice echoed dramatically off the walls.

“Monkey D…”

A huge roar from the crowd sent bodies flying up and out of their chairs, all rushing forward.

“… Dragon!”

Dragon? Dragon the revolutionary? Zoro craned to see over the crowd, but it was useless. There were too many people next to the bar. Monkey D… Monkey D Dragon… he spun his face onto his captain, who seemed to be thinking along the very same lines he was, but before they could exchange a word the barkeep began to speak again.

“Wait! Wait! There’s more!” laughed the man holding the den den. “Harry on the docks reported in today, a new arrival!” The room had gone utterly silent. Zoro could see people twitching with anticipation. He was too. What other big names would be said tonight, in this very room with him and his Sencho? The man cleared his throat, enjoying the rapt attention of his patrons. “Two men - who’s names have shaken the sand!” he rumbled. A few curious whispers hissed through the crowd. “The man, who will become the Pirate King, Monkey D Luffy! And his first mate, the swordsman Roronoa Zoro!”

The silence that followed lasted only long enough for Zoro to hear the shichibukai at the bar choke on his drink. After that there was a rush of sound... Heads turning, searching until they saw the back table where they recognized the three swords and green hair, and the smiling face and red vest, the straw hat between them on the table.

Zoro had never shaken so many hands with so many people, never heard so many ‘amazing!’ and ‘inspiring!’ and ‘greatest!’ and ‘welcome!’ and ‘pleasure to meet you!’ in all his life. It seemed to last forever, but it was really only about five minutes before the barkeep spoke into the snail again. “Okay, okay!” he laughed, “Don’t overwhelm them, folks! Now, it’s time to get back to drinking! Happy hour begins now!”

**

A queue developed at the bar, and Zoro could see Mihawk gaping at their table, still red faced from having inhaled whatever-it-was he had in his glass. He gave a smirk to the hawk-eyed man just as a gigantic figure walked right up to the head of their table wearing a heavy coat with a white scarf sticking up above the collar. He had a crisscrossing red tattoo spanning the left side of his face, and dark - deep brown eyes.

“Monkey D Luffy.” He said, staring at the captain.

Luffy nodded. “That’s me.” He said.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

Zoro could feel the tension between the two men, heavy air that snapped and crackled almost the same way the air snapped and crackled between he and Sanji sometimes – but this was more dense, far more... Luffy shook his head.

“Good.” The man grinned before walking away from them without another word.

“Anything else I can get for you?” The waitress had come back, beaming. “More sake? and we have lamb loin in the oven if you would like…”

“Who was that man?” Luffy asked her. “That man, just now… That big man!”

The brown haired girl smiled. “He is Monkey D Dragon.” She said. “It’s the second time I’ve seen him come for the festival! He and the owner are quite close.” She giggled.

“Who is the owner, what’s his name?” Zoro asked.

The girl sighed. “He has asked us not to disclose his name to you.” She told the swordsman. “And it’s his personal request, otherwise I’d tell you. He might be at this year’s fair! You’ll see him for yourselves.” She gave them another kind smile before slipping away into the crowd.

“This place is just too weird.” Zoro sighed, uncorking one of the bottles of sake. After having his name announced to the whole room and nothing happening… he might as well get drunk. Luffy looked a little shaken, but after a few minutes he shrugged his shoulders, diving with enthusiasm into a plate of lamb that had been brought to their table.

 

### You're Too Drunk!

### ~~~~*~~~~

After several bottles of sake, glasses of whiskey, then beer, and more sake... and an entertainingly furious shouting match with his rival (who was more plowed than he was) Zoro hardly remembered his captain half-carrying, half-dragging him from the bar back across town to the hotel. Luffy laid his first mate down gently on the bed closest to the door before reaching down to undo the sash ties around Wado, Kitetsu, and Yubashiri.

It was a testament to how inebriated the swordsman was, that he didn’t object to the activity that separated him from his blades. His cheeks were hot and red as he stared up at his captain’s face. “Oi, Sencho?” he slurred, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

“Zoro?” Luffy replied, setting the katana aside carefully. He knew how much those swords meant to his green haired nakama, and he was not disposed to disregard them without proper respect.

Zoro’s hand came up to brush against his captain’s arm while Luffy stripped him of his heavy coat and scarf. “You kissed me, earlier.” He said.

Luffy grinned. “Well, yea.”

“Why?” the green haired man demanded, pushing himself up so that he was right in Luffy’s face.

The younger pirate took in a deep breath. He didn’t push his first mate away, because he really didn’t want to. “Why not?” he asked blithely. Zoro didn’t respond, or even move after his question, and so Luffy tilted his head forward; breathing in the older man’s scent – metal polish and harsh spices, and the captain wondered if it was because of the food he ate. “Did Zoro like it, when I kissed him?” Luffy asked.

“Just answer the fucking question, Sencho.” Zoro hissed, and he shot a hand forward to wrap around the younger man’s neck. Luffy had been thinking about backing away, he somehow knew he should… but he also knew didn’t want to, just yet.

Brown eyes tracking up and down his swordsman’s face, taking in the flush of his cheeks and neck, the fuzziness of his gaze. He heard the slurred speech, and could almost taste the sour sweat that poured out of the older man. “Zoro’s drunk.” He accused.

“Don’t change the subject.” Zoro growled. “Why’d you kiss me?” Luffy pushed the older man down onto the bed, fingers dug in deep into his shoulders, but Zoro didn’t care, in fact he kind of liked it. “What’s the matter?” he chided, “Can’t talk to me?”

“Don’t want to.” Luffy told him, but he still brought himself up over Zoro, one leg pressing… oh so sweetly… against the older man’s inner thigh. “It’s not fair.” The captain breathed.

“Fair?” Zoro gasped, and he rubbed himself against his captain. Luffy inhaled sharply at the sudden contact. “It’s not fair to hold back, Sencho. When all I wanna do is dance with you.”

Luffy stared at his first mate, expressionless. The younger pirate hadn’t drunk that night at all, just sat back and watched as Zoro consumed bottle after bottle. Free booze was not a good offer from a bar to the swordsman… it had been too long since he had unlimited funds, so the end of his money served also as his tolerance point. Without that to hold him back, he didn’t know when to stop. “Don’t wanna do this right now.” Luffy hissed, one hand brushing through Zoro’s green hair. “Zoro’s too drunk.”

That was not the answer the green haired man wanted, and he struck out at Luffy, connecting with his shoulder. “Fuck you!” he gasped. Luffy hardly felt any pain from the blow, it was that hungry look in his swordsman’s eyes he could not ignore. He didn’t think he could really trust that it was genuine… because Zoro would never want him when he was sober, no matter how much Luffy might like him to.

“You’ll feel better in the morning.” The captain breathed, but as he tried to push himself away, intending to go to his own bed, Zoro wrapped his arms and legs around him.

“Don’t!” he growled. “Don’t you fucking go anywhere, Sencho!” he didn’t even have his eyes open anymore, and Luffy could tell he wasn’t far from passing out.

The younger pirate leaned in, kissing the green haired man, driving his tongue in between his teeth. Zoro was too drunk, Luffy believed, and it was only for that reason that he dared to kiss him – because he hadn’t ever dreamed that his first nakama would willingly allow him to take his mouth in this way otherwise. It was just a fleeting fantasy for him, and one he had been repressing for a long time.

Zoro, however, had not been lying. He was completely coherent under the haze of alcohol coursing through his hot veins. He whole-heartedly had believed that Luffy would never touch him – because he thought Luffy simply didn’t touch anyone. But as the younger man’s tongue slipped behind his teeth, softly tasting him and slowly circling, he began to question his captain’s experience, even his preference. He grinned, bringing his hands up to Luffy’s shoulders. He lifted him, and the captain suddenly realized just how alert his swordsman was. “Luffy?” Zoro crooned, forcing his eyes to focus on the younger man’s face.

“Z-Zoro?” Luffy answered back. “I thought… well…”

“What?” Zoro’s lips quirked into a more lopsided smile. “You thought I wouldn’t notice you kissing me like that?” his fingers moved, massaging the muscles of his Sencho’s shoulders. “How could I not notice?”

Luffy’s heart pounded, Zoro’s hips moving and grinding slowly against him. “But… Zoro’s not into guys.” He whispered. “He’s said so.”

“When did I ever say that?” Zoro asked, and he brought one leg up to hook around his captain’s hips. He could feel the young man growing with excitement, the heat coming from him, and the pulse racing under his fingers as he worried them into sensitive pressure points.

“A long time ago.” Luffy answered. “Sanji was telling stories, and Zoro said he wasn’t a fag.”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no fag for that idiot cook, but I wouldn’t mind being one for my captain.” He hissed, pulling back on the leg around Luffy’s back to drive him closer, harder against himself.

Luffy could feel the hot bulge of Zoro’s need against his thigh, and he wondered if his first mate would let him touch it. “A fag’s a fag, right?” his captain asked.

Zoro let out a long noise, and it dripped inside the younger pirate like hot oil, or hot air, and he could feel it in his blood.

“Just forget about that word, captain. I didn’t mean it.” He breathed. “I don’t care what you thought it meant, that conversation with the damn cook… Because I’m telling you now, I’d have you. I want you! And I’m not letting you go this time…”

Luffy keened as Zoro’s hands dove under his red vest, worrying the skin on his abdomen before searching higher to fondle both nipples. Zoro’s eyes were open now, and focused, as if the alcohol had never invaded is bloodstream. Breath hissing between his teeth, and he licked his lips in such a way that made Luffy want him… he wanted him to use that tongue on him – and not just anywhere. Luffy put his head back, moaning at the ceiling, pushing against his swordsman. It felt amazing. He couldn’t believe how amazing… but… “This isn’t right!” he gasped. “Zoro. You’re… you’re too… you’re too drunk!”

“Shut up.” Zoro’s voice was wet and raw, his hands wandering determinedly under Luffy’s vest until he grasped his captain’s lower back. Diving further down until the digits were underneath his pants. “hehe.” The swordsman chuckled. “I knew you didn’t wear anything under your clothes.” He grinned, watching Luffy’s face flush red. “You’ve always wanted me to strip you, and have my way with you… haven’t you, Sencho?”

Luffy couldn’t answer. He was sure this wasn’t right. He didn’t want his first time with Zoro to be this way! “Stop!” He gasped, but Zoro’s hands were already pulling at his flesh, pushing at his shorts until he had worried the button loose and slipped the fabric down to expose his captain’s thighs and burning groin. Luffy could not control the blood rushing to his cock, swelling him, no matter what he thought or wanted, and his swordsman’s touch was so welcome… He knew he was too engorged to simply ignore his need. He had to come… now… or he’d be in pain for hours. But to let Zoro do it… even though he wanted him too… to let this happen….

“Sencho.” Zoro moaned, his fingers slowly wrapping around his captain’s blood-swelled penis.

Luffy’s eyes flew wide, and he pushed away. His cock hurt so much he wanted to cry. With his back against the wall some three meters away from his first mate, he panted… The swordsman staring at him with hungry eyes. “I won’t!” Luffy gasped, and tears did fall, tears of pain and of simple stress. “I want Zoro!” he said, “But I want all of him! Not… not this…”

The green haired pirate blinked, because his brain was fuzzy, and part of him cried too. Cried because the opportunity to have his captain had been so gloriously close, and then been ripped away from him. In the absence of Luffy’s body heat, Zoro suddenly felt heavy, too heavy. Before he could make another sound or form another word, his muscles gave out, and he fell back onto the bed. He had passed out.

Luffy shivered on the carpet. Tears and sweat rolling down his face, and he gulped at the air. His cock hurt, his balls and back and legs… so painful he wanted to scream! He had wanted Zoro so very badly, but now that was not an option. It really hadn’t been since he had gotten so drunk. Reaching down he wrapped his own hands around himself - stretching and rubbing and sliding his thumbs in slippery precum until he fell to his knees – continuing to pump himself into orgasm with Zoro’s name hot on his wet lips. It was not satisfying. It was not what he wanted. And when he retreated into the luxurious bath to wash his hands and clean sticky cum from his skin he cursed under his breath for missing his opportunity to let Zoro take him. An opportunity he wasn't really sure would ever present itself again.

 

### Memory

### ~~~~*~~~~

Zoro woke before the sun came up. He was groggy, and his head hurt – and he was unbelievably thirsty. He went into the bathroom, stumbling just a bit, and had to hold onto the sink for support. Luffy was dead asleep, snoring and crooning in the dark as he often does when he’s dreaming. The swordsman flicks on the lights and just stands in front of the mirror a while, letting water run out of the tap. The continuous sound is soothing to him, somehow, and soothing is good – because it feels like he’s been beaten all over with rocks or metal poles or maybe thrown out of a window. Every inch of him grating at the feeling of standing upright. He can’t remember a damn thing that happened after he and Luffy left the hotel room yesterday. Had he been drunk? Please say he didn’t spend all his fucking money and didn’t come away with even one memory to show for it! He’s still wearing his pants, and after fishing in his pockets he produces a wad of cash… there’s no way he got drunk enough to black out entirely and still have this much… So what had happened?

Cupping his calloused hands, Zoro gulps down as much cool water as he can stomach. It certainly feels like he drank too much, the way his guts keep hitching like he needs to throw up. He hopes that’s the case… but who bought him the booze? Luffy? He shakes his green head. Meat may not be nearly as expensive as sake, but the way Luffy eats… There’s no way his captain would’ve been able to buy that much booze. When Zoro returns to bed he notices that Luffy isn’t snoring anymore, and he wonders why. The other man hasn’t said anything either. Usually when Luffy wakes up he’s immediately talking, but he’s just… what… pretending to be asleep?

“Luffy? You awake?” Zoro asked.

A moment, then… “Yea.”

Zoro catches the hesitation in his captain’s voice. It’s a rare thing for Luffy. “You alright? You have a nightmare or something?”

Another moment, then… “Zoro doesn’t remember?” he asks.

“Remember what?” replies the swordsman.

"..." 

“Sencho?” More silence. Luffy rolls over, and Zoro can hear him shift the covers up over his head. Shit… what happened last night? He won’t be able to get back to sleep, knowing there’s something wrong with his captain. The older man gets up out of bed again, crossing over to sit on Luffy’s mattress. “Oi.” he says gently. “Talk to me, Sencho… what’s wrong?”

Luffy rolls over, and even in the dark Zoro can see his round eyes staring at him. Wide, and slightly disbelieving. “Zoro really doesn’t remember?” he asks.

“Not a thing.” The swordsman admits, rubbing the side of his head. The backs of his eyes hurt, and it feels like he’s got a sea king wriggling around in his stomach that’s uncomfortable as hell.

His captain keeps looking at him, and after a while, sits up. “Zoro?” slowly, the younger man leans closer, and kisses the first mate on his cheek.

Zoro winces, but allows the action. “What was that for?” he asks.

Luffy’s still looking at him. What’s with that expression? Zoro wonders. “G’night.” Luffy says, and it’s not his normal happy-go-lucky voice; it's low and raw, animalish... The younger man rolls up tight into the blankets with his back to his first mate. His swordsman goes back to his own bed, and falling back asleep takes him a long time.

**

The sun’s up, pale light streaming in from the gap in the curtain. Zoro’s head doesn’t hurt anymore, but as he rubs his fingers into the bridge of his nose he almost wishes that it was. He could remember everything… EVERYTHING… the bar – the waitress - Mihawk – the blur of introductions – the many, many free drinks – and… and… !

“Oh god!” he moaned.

Luffy wasn’t in his bed, sheets rumpled up to one side and his coat missing from the hook beside the door. It wasn’t really a surprise, not after… Shit…

Chopper and Usopp were standing in the hallway waiting for the elevator when Zoro makes his way out of his and Luffy’s room. The bright lights of the hotel burnt at his eyes, though he privately preferred it that way. Pain was a good distraction for a lot of things. A lot of stupid, stupid things.

“Good morning!” Chopper’s shrill voice was like a drill on the side of his head. That was okay too.

“ ‘morning.” Zoro gurgled.

Usopp smirked at his nakama’s apparent hangover. “That good of a night, eh? Ya know we’ve got to make our allowances last for two weeks.”

“Sake was free.” The swordsman groaned as they stepped into the elevator compartment and Chopper mashed the button for the ground floor.

“Really? Where’d you guys wind up going?”

“Some bar,” Zoro waved his hand vaguely. “You guys seen Luffy yet today?”

Head shakes. “Maybe he’s already down in the restaurant.” The sniper suggested.

“Restaurant?”

Chopper produced a yellowish card. “Someone slipped this under our door last night.” He said. “From the management, the owner’s invited us for a complimentary breakfast.”

“The owner?” Zoro rubbed his face in his hands. “Does it say who ‘the owner’ is?”

The reindeer scanned their invitation card. “No, just says they want to extend a warm welcome.”

He didn’t like this. This “owner” that didn’t have a bloody name, and kept giving them things. “A friend of the Strawhat Pirates?” he muttered.

“Ah? What was that?” The three of them walked out across the carpet, waving to the cheery woman behind the desk – today dressed in a cherry-red dress with her white-blonde hair tied up in a ponytail.

“ ‘s what they said last night about the owner of the bar. Said we didn’t have to pay for anything.”

“You think it’s the same guy? Owns the bar and the hotel?”

 

Crossing the reception area, then down another long hallway – the floor sloping slightly downward – they entered into a cozy room with pale yellow walls, furnished with tables and chairs – there was a large grate with a fire burning away behind, and a breakfast buffet along one wall. There weren’t a lot of people there, and their crew was the largest group. Nami and Robin sipping coffee while listening to the blonde cook talking about something. Luffy sat across from them, stuffing himself with pancakes and sausage. He took one rather quick look at Zoro before returning full attention to his plate.

“ ‘morning.” Usopp waved as he made his way over to get food, Chopper went with him. Zoro didn’t feel hungry at all and just lowered himself down into a chair and poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the center of the table.

Nami stared at him. “You look terrible.” She said in some concern. “What happened to you last night?”

“Drank all his money, probably, eh Moss-Head?”

“Cork it.” Zoro croaked between gulps of water. His throat wasn’t working too well, and he was getting a very strange feeling from the man sitting beside him.

“And what’s with you?” Sanji rounds on Luffy, pointing at his bulging cheeks. “I suppose we should be grateful for a little peace and quiet – but seriously, you haven’t said three words since you came down here.”

“ ‘ave ‘oo!” Luffy said indignantly through a mouthful of food. Nami shook her head. Chopper and Usopp returned to the table and Sanji gave up trying to get any answers from his captain.

“Well I’ll be.” The cook froze, and Zoro could see why. Just behind him a man had approached. He had on a white jacket, scarf in one hand, sand-colored mustache braided into long ropes that stuck out from his face. Blue eyes smiling as he looked down the Strawhat cook who had gone very, very pale.

Sanji turned around in his chair. “Old... Fart?” his voice shook, lit cigarette falling down into his plate of food.

Zeff laughed, mirthful tears leaking out from the corners of his wrinkled eyes. “It’s been a while, little eggplant!”

“Anh.. I’m.. eh…” Sanji stuttered, and Robin giggled at him until he found his wits and stood up to clasp hands with the old former pirate, the chef who had essentially raised him as a father. “I’m no ‘little eggplant’ anymore, Old Fool.” He grinned.

“There’s no fool like an old fool.” Chortled Zeff.

“What are you doing here?” Sanji asks, his eyes still staring with mild disbelief.

“Well, Banban’s been hounding me for a while. Says he's got some new spice I'll like, so I figured since the fair was coming up, Kibo’s as good a place to meet up as any.” Said the old chef, turning to wrap arms around Nami as she stood from the table and hurried over. “Never thought I’d see you here!” he laughed before nodding respectfully. “Mugiwara.”

“Banban?” Usopp raised an eyebrow.

“He’s an old friend of mine, lives on Water Seven. That old fool will be making rice there for pretty lasses until he drops dead. Anyway, had an old Eternal Pose for Kibo. I have to say, it’s a lot easier to get around than it used to be!” More laughter, the older man put an arm around Sanji. “Have you been to the West Peer yet, eh? Best red eel anywhere, as long as your arm and the meat to fat ratio just right…”

The two cooks departed soon after, Zeff eager to hear all about Sanji’s experiences so far on the Grand Line. Robin and Nami told everyone that they wanted to go up town to visit some museum. Usopp and Chopper were going shopping in the curios district. Zoro suddenly found himself sitting alone at the table with Luffy, who had finished eating a while ago, and just sat there with his elbows on either side of his plate. Hat tipped down over his face so his first mate couldn’t see much more than his chin.

“Luffy.” He tried… tried, but failed to keep the tremulous ire out of his voice.

His captain caught it. “Does Zoro still not remember?”

A sigh. And Luffy caught that too.

The two men looked at each other.

 

### Hot Damn!

### ~~~~*~~~~

Two days before Hope’s Carnival, and they heard about it everywhere they went, Former-Pirate-Captain Zeff the Red Leg and Sanji. It was freezing cold outside on the street. Snow covering every surface like a frosted cake. Strong eves holding up two or three feet of fluffy white flakes encased by gleaming sheens of ice. Under these eves, Sanji was surprised to see, there were tables and chairs, and the hardy Winter Island locals of Kibo Island sat outside! Happy people, bundled up in thick sweaters and scarfs and gloves, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs filled with teas or coffee, or spiked ciders and spiced chocolate. All animatedly talking about the incoming festivities. Exchanging notes of past events – so much happy chatter that Sanji couldn’t determine what was really being said. The only thing that was understandable was that everyone was looking forward to it.

“Oi, Old Fart.” Sanji said, feet crunching in the snow next to Zeff.

“Mmm?” The older chef rubbed his hands together, looking up and down the street, and into brightly lit shop windows with a smile tugging at the corners of his chill-chapped lips.

“Not that I’m not shitty pleased to see you, but this place seems a little too… well…” The blond took off one of his gloves, lighting his cigarette.

The older man laughed, laughed so loud that a little snow lid down off one of the sloped roofs. A couple people under the opposite awning clapped and whistled at him. Zeff chortled as they walked further down the lane. “Kibo’s a weird place, alright!” he told Sanji. “We landed here, my crew and me, back when I was a captain. Must have been… what… twenty-five, twenty-six years ago now…”

Sanji noticed the old man’s eyes mist over as they walked, wind pushing a few flakes onto his pruned face.

“Never thought such a place like this existed, because I still didn't know how vast the world was.” He sighed. “It was the Pirate King who owned it then, of course, so things were a little different than they are today. Shanks’ a little more into drinking and singing than ceremonial combat!” he pointed down a side road. “Ah! This way’s quicker, comm’on!”

“Wait, what?” Sanji had stumbled to a halt, standing in the snow. “Oi – oi?” he chuckled a little. “That’s a joke right?”

“Which part?” Zeff grinned at the younger man’s wide eyes. “You lot don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“I always wondered,” Zeff crossed his arms for the cold, smiling gently. “When your captain showed up with that smiling face, and we all got to see him in action against Kreig. Gone in a flash, and you went with him. I’ve had a while to stare at his wanted poster… at that hat he’s got… he got it from the Red-Hair, didn’t he?”

Sanji nodded slowly. “Yea, he did…”

Zeff let out another booming laugh, slapping his knee, peg leg stabbing through the snow to smack loudly on paving stones. “Hot Damn!” he hooted. “This’ll be one hell of a year!”

**

“Monkey D Luffy?” The captain turned towards the female receptionist wearing the bright red dress who had come up the table between him and his swordsman. She bowed her head to him and raised her smiling face. “Both yourself and Roronoa Zoro might like to know, anyone wanting to sign up for the Contestant Battles should do so today. I believe they are taking names at Square Door.”

“Contestant Battles?” Luffy asks.

“Mm.” Beamed the young woman. “Every year is different! Fencing, ice water races, block falls… all sorts of things! Last year Marco the Phoenix and Fist Fire Ace took first place in the Sheer Climb.”

Zoro saw Luffy’s eyes flash wide.

“A-Ace?”

The woman nodded excitedly, arms thrown wide to her sides. “The Commanders were so happy to have won over Jinbe and Thatch, it was weeks before Whitebeard-sama-san was able to get them out of the bars and back out to sea!” She giggled into her hands, face flushed. “I haven’t heard which contests have been prepared this year, but they’ll have them posted by now.” She pulled a map out of a pocket in her dress. “It’s just here," she said, pointing out a place on the map.

Luffy stared for a moment. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. “Thanks.” He muttered, managing a wide smile for the woman before she rushed away, stooping to speak to other patrons as she went.

“What’s with this place?” Zoro asked, struggling to force down another mouthful of water.

His captain folded up the map and stowed it in his pants’ pocket. “Wanna come?” he asked.

Zoro inhaled sharply, and he choked, “W-wh-what?!” he gasped.

“To this Square Door place?” Luffy asked, raising an eyebrow at the steadily reddening cheeks of his first mate.

“Ah… ammm..”

“Zoro?”

“Yea.” The swordsman said, wrapping one hand around Wado’s hilt as his heart hammered away somewhere in his neck. “Sounds good.”

Anything sounded good. All the laughter and sheer lack of danger he had been so bloody used to was really getting to him, and it was a distraction from having to talk to Luffy about last night – something he really – really-really – didn’t want to talk to him about… EVER! He nodded to himself slowly, deciding that the event that had happened was a terrible mistake, and he wouldn’t try anything like it ever again. He’d just push the fantasies he had been having towards his captain down into the back of his head. They’d go away eventually. It was a good plan, Zoro thought, until he looked up to find Luffy staring at him. The younger man had his arms crossed over his chest, round eyes slackened with something, but Zoro couldn’t read him too well – being so severely hung-over did that to him. Normally he’d be able to tell what Luffy was thinking, because he always could, ever since the younger man had cut him down off that damn pole in East Blue. He’d been starving and sleep fatigued then, and he had read everything in the kid’s face. But this look… there seemed to be a lot in it, but he couldn’t understand a word.

**

“My, my.” Robin smiled as she and Nami walked under an intricate gold archway and found themselves in a massive room at the museum they had come to visit. It was large enough to fit their whole ship eight times over, fifty foot ceiling that swirled up into a dome with blue paint that made it look like they were under the sky. At the very top was a circular window where a sun-catcher was hung. One brilliant red gem flashing with wintery light that drifted in from the outside. The walls around them were simple and white, arching back away from the main floor with large portraits and plaques hung every five or six feet. Each depicting some man or woman or some scene. The rest of the massive space had busts on pedestals, or weapons and old books behind glass, yellow and age-crumbling registers with names and dates, blood smeared hats and armor, or odd trophies made of brass and copper and steel…

“So this is Hope’s Carnival?” Nami breathed, walking with the dark haired woman between the many artifacts.

Robin consulted a pamphlet she had picked up at the archway. “It says here that this year will host the seventy-eighth annual event, but that Hope’s Carnival actually dates back hundreds of years, even before the Void Century.” Her eyes lit up. “And though most of that time is lost, some of the registers clearly note names and dates indicating that time, and are found nowhere else.”

Nami stepped up to a tall painting of a man with black hair and mustache, a redheaded woman on his arm. “Gol D Rodger and Portgus D Rogue.” She read from the placard. There was a further inscription, and she read on. “Gol D Rodger owned Kibo Island for ten years, from the day he defeated the Killroy Pirates. Above’s image was painted by Lorice Mark, two years before his successor, Red-Haired Shanks, accepted Kibo under his flag. This work is dedicated to the Pirate King, whose effort and love in preserving Hope’s peace and prosperity will never be forgotten.” Nami looked up at the beautiful woman with freckles and deep blue eyes and auburn hair that fell down and out of sight beneath the ornate frame.

“Many of these portraits are of the various past ‘Owners’ of Kibo.” Robin says, flipping the pages of the pamphlet. “As well as renderings of historic contests, and of contestants' ships.”

“Contestants?” Nami leaned over to look at the paper.

“Every year Hope’s Carnival hosts Contestant Battles.” Robin reads aloud. “From hundreds of years of inspiration, a panel of judges chooses or invents a series of challenges to entertain and intrigue. Contesting pirates, marines, citizens, and royalty vie for honor or prestige or simple bragging rights.” She looks aside to a display of katana behind glass, helmet and wrist guards flashing gold beside them. “Hope’s Carnival turns away no one of worth.” She whispers.

**

Usopp had gotten separated from Chopper about an hour ago, the little Zoan having been irresistibly pulled into a bookstore that took up the entirety of a five story building. He wasn’t worried, not at all. When he was finished riffling through the bins of second-hand goods around him, he’d double back and look for the Strawhat doctor. The shop owner didn’t bother him as he held up item after item, just smiled with his feet on his own counter, reading a newspaper. A shock of white hair visible as it stuck off his head in a forked Mohawk.

The bell to the shop gave a little *tink as the sniper shoved himself down into a deep crate to extract a set of West Blue goggles he had never seen before.

“Benn!” He heard the Shop Keep call, his newspaper ruffling as he folded it and set it down on the counter.

“Charlie.” Responded a rumbling voice, and a few footfalls.

“It’s been a while, my friend.”

Usopp straightened up, the googels in his hand. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the white haired shop owner clasping hands with a tall man in a long black coat and high fur collar. He had black hair himself, held back on his shoulders in a loose ponytail. There was a stream of brown smoke rising into the air from the side of his face, and the sniper’s practiced nose detected the earthy smell of a cigar.

“… looking for something special." the man was explaining to the shop owner, his elbows on the counter. "Sencho’s birthday is coming up. I hate that it coincides with the fair, means I keep getting shown up!”

Both men laugh. “Can’t have that!” the shop owner, Charlie, chuckled. “Have any idea what he might like?”

“Besides his left arm” sighed the man. “Not a clue. I could buy him booze, but he gets enough of that as it is.”

Charlie stepped out from behind the counter and down one of the isles. “Well, I’ve got no arms…”

Usopp could see the two men searching bins and shelves as he twisted the dials of the goggles in his hands. He kind of wanted them, kinda wondered how much they might be… but he wasn’t quite sure yet.

“Ah!” The black haired man pointed at the goggles in the sniper’s hand. “I haven’t seen a pair of those in forever! Mind if I have a look?” he asked, a big smile on his face.

“Sure.” Usopp handed them over. He couldn’t exactly say why, but the big man seemed extremely safe to him, almost as safe as one of his own nakama. “Benn, is it?” he asked.

“Aye!” he turned the goggles over between calloused fingers stained orange from his cigars. The younger pirate recognized the signs, because of Sanji. The blonde cook's fingertips yellow from handling loose tobacco. “Oh! but these bring back some memories! Our ship’s sniper had a pair of these years ago. He gave ‘em up though, said his eyes got better than the goggles!” he laughed as he handed them back.

“That’d be convenient.” Usopp snorted. He took back the goggles and held out his hand. “Name’s Usopp.”

The older man choked a bit, and the Strawhat sniper stared. “Us-Usopp?” he asked.

“Aye.” He still had his hand out, waiting for Benn to shake it, but the tall man just stared at him with oddly blank eyes. He was starting to feel really stupid, but after a brief moment the older pirate finally reached our and grasped his hand.

“Benn Beckman.” He said, “‘s a pleasure… truly.” All previous mirth was gone from the tall man’s breathless voice.

“Uh, thanks?”

“How about these?” Charlie, the shop owner, emerged from inside a crate.

 

### Night Falls Early

### ~~~~*~~~~

Chopper had his head down as he crept along the slim isle. Nervous as he always is around humans, even his own crew; but he could not resist the display he’d seen in the shop window – a thick hard-bound medical journal published by one of his idols, Dr. Hogback. A scientist, a doctor, and genius… Chopper had to get his hooves on that journal. He’d been ferretting around on the shelves for almost an hour looking for a copy.

“…said he wanted stuff on blood poisoning, red blood cell infection… maybe this?… ah! O-oi! sorry…” A man wearing white overalls stumbled into (and almost completely over) the little reindeer. Chopper hadn’t been watching where he was going, and immediately scrambled to his feet and to the back of the row. Sweating and puffing, he realizes there is nowhere to hide. No choice to but press his back up against the wall. The man that had walked into him gave a consoling smile. “Oi, sorry, eh…”

“Aoi, I found it, let’s get back.” A white bear wearing orange overalls turned the corner next to his crewmate, Chopper assumed they were crewmates anyway, because of the insignia they both had over their pockets. He stood up on his hide legs, like Chopper, and the Zoan wondered if he also had a Devil’s Fruit, because talking-walking-animals really weren’t all that common, were they? The bear turned eyes on him. “Who’re you?”

The doctor shivered, trapped between two rows of shelves with a blank wall at his back, it was too narrow to slip around between them. He took a deep breath. “Tony Tony Chopper.” He said.

“Bepo.” The white bear told him, before nodding his head towards his companion. “This is Shachi.”

Chopper could see the book in Bepo’s paws. It was one he’d already read while he studied under Doctorine back home on Drum Island. “Do you have a sick crewmate?” he asks.

“Oh, this?” he turned the thick tomb over between his paws. “Captain wanted it, and when we heard that Kibo had one of the best book stocks on the Grand Line…”

“Your captain?”

“Trafalgar Law.” Bepo said proudly. “The man who will become the Pirate King!”

Chopper’s heart hammered, and he stood up a little straighter, away from the wall. “My captain’s going to be the Pirate King.” He remembered what Usopp had told him, after he had been beaten by that weird Batter and Mole Woman. The Strawhat Sniper had suffered broken bones, internal bleeding, obviously more than one concussion that day. Chopper will never forget how he stood back up to declare Luffy’s dream, spitting his own blood in the faces of those who had laughed at it.

The man called Shachi chuckled. “That’s what they all say.” But he sighed at the reindeer’s rising hackles. “Doesn’t matter though, does it? Crewmates, eh? All we have to do is believe in our own captain while they climb. Ne?” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tony Tony Chopper.”

Chopper extended him his hoof, and the two pirates shook hands.

“Who’s your captain?” Bepo asked.

“Luffy.” The reindeer told him. “Monkey D Luffy.”

Shachi, now standing out of Chopper’s line of vision, twitched. “Monkey D Luffy, the hundred-million-beli head?”

“Mmm.” Chopper said, and he saw the book he wanted – the journal written by Hogback. Without thinking he transformed to Heavy Point in order to reach the book off the top shelf. The other two pirates staring as he shrank back down, hugging the glossy cover against his chest. Giggling, he ran down the aisle to purchase his treasure.

“Should… tell the captain?” Shachi muttered to Bepo.

“Yeah.” The polar bear replied, his paws trembling. The Heart Pirates were officially ‘rookies’ form North Blue, but they were not inexperienced. Their captain, Trafalgar Law, also known as ‘the Surgeon of Death’, had once been a crewman under a prestigious man in the New World…. They didn’t go into conflicts blindly, and followed the news reports religiously. They had heard of Monkey D Luffy, and of his small crew. To already have a bounty over a hundred million was impressive, only a small handful had accomplished it, and to that moment, Law hadn’t – his bounty was only eighty-three million. Bepo cursed under his breath. Kibo was a famous place. Hope’s Carnival would be looked at by so many eyes, a good place to attain fame. When his captain had insisted they make their way here for the Contestant Battles… he hadn’t thought that a bigger name rookie might show up.

**

“How much further?” Zoro asked his captain, wiping his wind-reddened nose with the back of one freezing glove.

It had been the most words the swordsman had said to his captain all day. Trudging through two feet of snow, and even though they had bundled up in coats and scarfs and heavy pants, there was no protecting themselves from the icy wind that snuck under their clothes to find bare skin.

“Hmmm” Luffy hummed. He kept turning the hand-drawn map over and over, scratching at his head. “Donno!” he said brightly.

“What do you mean you donno?!” Zoro roared.

Luffy handed him the ruffled and slightly damp paper. “Zoro can figure it out.”

“Eh?!”

Luffy ran ahead, into a wide circular courtyard where five other roads entered into a kind of hub. There were several bright shops facing the yard, and trees that stood tall with frozen canopies spread out like jade umbrellas under pillows of pale snow. More than a few people were walking about, talking and laughing, and the smell of food was heavy on the cold air. Zoro looked down at the squiggly lines and little boxes on the paper that must have represented buildings. He sucked at reading maps. He had ALWAYS sucked at reading maps. That’s why (though he would never admit it to anyone in a million years!) he was always getting fucking lost.

“Oi, Zoro!” Luffy was hanging upside-down on a railing outside one of the shops. Red-orange glow of warm light falling onto his face.

Joining his captain, he could see what the interest was… food. Steam billowed out of a square vent in the side of the building nearest them, carried up on a draft over the arching rooftops… It did smell rather good. “We just had breakfast.” He muttered, putting one hand over his face.

“I did, but that was hours ago, and Zoro hasn’t eaten a thing.” Luffy scolded, wrapping one stretchy arm around his first mate to pin him to his side.

 

After marching his swordsman in through the door, stripping him of his coat and scarfs and swords (because this particular establishment did not allow them) Luffy found them a quiet booth next to a tall window that looked out at the snowy courtyard. They could see everything! The white sky with swirling snow, the streetlamp’s orangey warmth, children having snowball fights, the lights from nearby buildings reflected down onto the snow. Everything. Luffy laughed from the bottom of his heart.

“Welcome!” bowed their waiter, and he handed them each a menu. “You are Strawhat Luffy and Roronoa Zoro? Am I correct?” he asked, flipping open his notepad to take their orders.

Zoro winced.

“Yea!” Luffy said, smiling brightly and throwing one hand over the back of the bench. “How come everybody knows who we are?” he asked, “Normally nobody cares.”

The waiter gave a small chuckle. “Well, you are the owner’s favorite.”

“Owner?” Zoro growled. “Who is this damn owner?”

Another chuckle. “Sake and meat?” he inquired.

“Aye!” Luffy grinned wider, watching as the waiter bowed, then left their table.

“Aren’t you even remotely curious why people are being so freakishly nice to us around here?” Zoro asked his captain, uncomfortably aware of his fraying nerves and stomach still tight from last night.

Luffy laughed again, “Who cares!” he said, wiping away a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye. “This is a good town!” and he kept laughing as their waiter returned with food and drink, Zoro was privately glad when it was a weaker sake than what had been supplied to them the night before.

“There will be no charge for your meal, sirs.” The man bowed, “Consider it a gift from our owner.”

Zoro thought that this would happen again, but he still didn’t like it. He was watching their waiter’s retreating back, and was only vaguely aware that Luffy was talking to him through a mouthful of pork.

“Eh? What?”

“How long has Zoro wanted to dance with me?” Luffy asked, reaching for beer.

Zoro choked. His captain's expression was so cheerful, like he was discussing the damn weather! He drank a few swallows, grinning at his swordsman’s discomfort.

“That is what Zoro said, right?” The dark haired captain removed his straw hat and put it down on the table in front of the window. Snow swirling on the other side of the glass, it made Zoro feel all that much warmer.

“Said a lot of things last night.” He croaked, uncorking the bottle of sake and tipping it down his throat.

Luffy watched the small motions of his throat, the small dribble of clear alcohol along the scruffy jawline of his green haired first mate. He followed that droplet down his sun-tanned neck, pool a little at the protruding edge of his collarbone before dipping down into his shirt and out of sight. And then there was his chest to look at, the white fabric stretched over Zoro’s pectoral muscles. The swordsman hadn’t bought new clothes yet, and all his shirts were getting tight on him, with the new muscle tone he had been building up since they had entered the Grand Line. Luffy could see every curvature of his torso, the slight suggestion of where his nipples stood out because of the cold, the part of his abdominal muscles he could see above the table.

“You never did answer my question.” The swordsman said, once he had finished almost half the bottle of sake and placed it down on the table. He wipes his mouth on the back of his arm. “Why did you kiss me, Sencho?”

Luffy was already blushing, but it wasn’t because of his swordsman’s question. He sighed. “Zoro’s not going to get too drunk again, if I tell him, right?”

“Is that a captain’s order?” Zoro grinned, because Luffy’s leg was brushing against his calf under the table.

“Sure is.” Luffy swallowed another mouthful of beer.

Zoro pushed the sake bottle away from him, sliding his other leg over his captain’s shin. “Go on, then. I’m kinda curious.”

Luffy smiled as he stared into his nakama’s hungry eyes, wondering how much he should say – wondering if Zoro remembered everything about that kiss, or even which kiss he was talking about. He licked his lips. “W–”

“Oi-Oi!” A loud crash and breaking glass ripped through the low mumble of sound that had been so comfortable around Luffy and his Swordsman at the back table. Luffy, who was facing the front of the establishment, saw at once what was happening. A big man was at the bar, one hand clutching at one of the employees’ throats, the other having just brushed several bottles to the floor in glistening shards. A woman screamed.

Zoro cursed. “Not right now…” he muttered, getting up. He put his hand down and realized his weapons had been checked in. He cursed again.

The big man, big and fat with the face of a dirty mole, gave the bar man a rough shake. “Thought pirates were welcome in Kibo?” he snarled. “What’s the point of a pirate’s festival if the drinks cost so bloody much, eh?!” He drew his free hand back, but it never came forward.

The bar man winced, and when the blow never landed he opened his eyes. Zoro had a hold of the other pirate’s elbow, his fingers digging into muscle with such pressure that the man’s face was contorted – his eyes narrowed and staring.

“Oi.” Zoro growled. “Some people are trying to have a quiet chat ‘round here.”

“… the hell do you think you are?!” hissed the mole-faced pirate, and Zoro could smell his rotting breath. In one fluid motion the man loosed a serrated knife from his belt and swung it back. He was fast! Zoro felt metal notches bite into his forearm before he could pull clear.

Zoro took a few paces back, blood dribbling down his arm and hand, falling from his fingertips onto the floor.

“I am Donquiote Usstep!” roared the fat pirate, “You worthless trash, you –”

Roronoa Zoro sensed it, and stepped two paces to the left, allowing room for his captain to stretch forward, landing one powerful blow to the fat man’s face. With an echoing *snap the fist was recalled. Luffy hadn’t even gotten up from his seat. The pirate, Donquiote Us-whatever, made a rasping, guttural sounding moan before falling back against the bar and slithering down onto the floor in a heap.

Utter silence.

Luffy got up from the table and walked to his swordsman, taking his nakama’s hand to examine the deep tear bleeding profusely. Zoro noticed that his captain’s hands were trembling. “Oi, Sencho?”

“My apologies, sirs.” Their waiter came up next to them, eyes directed to the wound on Zoro’s arm. “Just a moment, I’ll fetch someone.” And he was gone. Another three employees were negotiating the fat pirate bodily from the establishment, another talking hurriedly into a den den mushi.

Luffy and Zoro returned to their table, and Luffy pushed the sake bottle towards his first mate. The swordsman wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, and it was halfway to his lips before he paused, smirking at his captain. “Isn’t this against the rules?” he asked. His captain grinned, inviting him to drink.

The waiter arrived then, with bandages and towels. Luffy didn’t say anything as he nodded to the man, and he himself saw to cleaning and dressing his first mate’s arm. Luffy wasn’t as good at it as Chopper, though, Zoro had to admit he was getting rather picky about the treatment he received. Before the little Zoan had joined them the state of his many sutures had been the least of his worries. However, Luffy was not a complete novice to these things, and had him sewn up and wrapped before the manager came over to their table. Bowing and apologizing, saying all kinds of strange polite things that neither Luffy nor Zoro could understand…

“If there is anything you would require…”

Luffy caught sight of the courtyard for the first time since the excitement had started, and he realized it was dark. “When did that happen?” he asked, scratching his head.

The manager bowed his head. “It can be a little shocking.” He said. “On Kibo, night and day are often drastically longer or shorter depending on cloud cover. Are you far from your hotel?”

Zoro gulped. “Ah, actually we’re… we’re lost at the moment…” He felt like a complete idiot for having to explain this to a complete stranger, but the man suddenly beamed, clapping his hands together.

“There is a fabulous hotel just on the other side of the yard!” he pointed. Luffy and Zoro could see a tall building festooned with lights, glittering just across yard, just as he said. “If you would like, I would be delighted to have our Owner extend to you a room for this evening. Tomorrow, when the sun comes back, you can continue on with your business at this end of town?”

“er..” Zoro was pretty sure they could find their way back without too much fuss… but.

“We’ll take it.” Luffy grinned, shaking hands warmly with the restaurant manager.

“Oi, Luffy?” Zoro hissed as the manager hurried off to make arrangements for their stay. “Nami and the others are going to be pretty worried if we don’t get back tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Luffy smiled, and Zoro shivered; his captain’s knee brushing up against his.

Luffy watched the little beads of sweat as they appeared on his swordsman’s forehead, and how his fingers twitched around the bottle of sake that he had almost finished drinking. They were brought more food, and more drink, and a key was brought to them by the manager who informed them that their room had been reserved. Ready whenever they wished to retire. Zoro didn’t say anything as they ate, their legs twined up under the table, moving unceasingly against each other. He still wanted his captain to answer his question, but at that moment, with the soft connection (even through their clothes) of their legs touching sending hot flairs up his spine… words were a little low on his priority list.

 

### Disgraceful

### ~~~~*~~~~

Benn Beckman, first mate of the Red-Hair Pirates, took a few numb steps out of Charlie’s second hand shop before ducking into an alley and leaning himself against the wall. He lit a new cigarillo, drawing in deep puffs. He could hardly believe he’d just met Yasopp’s son. Yasopp couldn’t have known the boy was on Kibo right now… he was probably still on board working on that new pistol he’d just gotten. And if Usopp was on the island, did that mean… Were all the Strawhats here?

‘Damn it!’ He smiled, a stream of smoke thick on the frigid air. ‘If Sencho knew, and didn’t even tell us…’ it seemed the kind of thing that his Captain would find less than important – or maybe he just wanted to wait and see how the chaos would play out. Hope’s Carnival would begin the day after tomorrow. If Luffy was here on the island, and his sixty-million first mate? They would make quite the team. He shook his head, and stretched his arms. If he hurried back he might be able to talk Roo into making dinner.

**

Luffy and Zoro spent an absurd amount of time in the restaurant, hardly eating (or drinking); just watching one another while sliding legs and knees and ankles up and down against each other. By the time they looked up, the majority of the other patrons had gone, and waiters were brining candles around for those still left at their tables. Their own waiter set one down, nodding gracefully before moving on.

Zoro looked at the little flame in its little copper cup. “Oi, Luffy?” His captain’s eyes tracked up, but he didn’t say anything. “When you kissed me…” his voice trailed off, his hands on the table balled up.

The Strawhat captain reached across the table to take hold of his first mate’s wrist, turning the arm so that the bandage he had applied faced up. He stared at the spot, another fresh wound. Zoro always had fresh wounds. A person might think that it was only the weak members of a pirate crew who would be injured all the time, but that was never the case with his own nakama. Zoro, the strongest (in Luffy’s mind) after him, was always getting hurt. Chest opened up… shot… stabbed… wild plans to cut off his own feet… Luffy’s eyes were fixed on his own grip on Zoro’s skin, and when the older pirate began to turn his wrist, fingers wrapping around his captain's slender hand, warring the skin on his palm, he watched; letting out a long breath. “Which kiss?” he asked.

**

White, powdery snow blew about as Shanks stumbled along in a drunken, uncoordinated kind of way. His right arm draped over his first mate’s shoulders. The streets were lit up with lamps and other warm glows that escaped surrounding hotels and bars and dinner restaurants, and he laughed and waved with everyone who recognized him, the Owner of Kibo Island. Cheeks flushed red, he poked at Benn’s face.

“Oi, oi!” he jabbed again, “What’s got you so worried, eh?”

Benn Beckman shifted his captain’s grip, sliding his feet to better support him. “I met someone today.” He said, grunting for the effort of keeping the man next to him from toppling over. “Yasopp’s son.”

Shanks laughed again, throwing his head back and almost sending them both crashing onto the ice.

“It’s not funny!” The black haired man grumbled, spitting his cigarillo to the ground as he grasped handfuls of his captain’s coat to keep him upright. But Shanks just waved his hand, eyes streaming with mirthful tears.

“Don’t worry about it, eh? … oh…” the scar that stretched across Shanks’ left eye loosened a little. Benn turned to follow his captain’s gaze. They were in the wide yard where their hotel was located; several other establishments stood around it, open and lit up even though night had come early… The Red-Hair Captain was staring into one of these, an eatery with soft lights on inside. The window closest to them showed a pair leaning in over a flickering candle on their table, their arms wrapped up together as they kissed with such slow sensuality that the first mate actually blushed, and he chuckled.

“What is it, Sencho? Just a couple of young lovers.” But after a second glance he noticed an unusual glimmer, shimmering metal earrings under a shock of lime-green hair, and the dark haired man he was kissing had on a red vest. On the table near the window… the gold weave of a straw hat with a red ribbon, the one his own captain had worn before having given it to… “Well, well.” Benn chuckled, taking advantage of Shanks’ shock to pull his arm further up onto his shoulder.

“Luffy.” Shanks sighed, a great big smile spread across his lips.

**

Sanji’s polished black bolano shoes made hardly any sound as he stepped out of the lift on the third floor. Glancing to his left he wondered if he should have a word with Luffy about what Zeff had told him. Wondered if he should. He had an unlit cigarette between his lips, just for comfort, and he waggled it up and down a couple of times, thinking. After a few minutes he shook his head, turning to the right for his, Usopp’s, and Chopper’s shared room.

It was dark outside, Sanji could see from the window that overlooked the street. Usopp was drying off his hair with a towel, and Chopper was halfway through a very thick book with a glossy cover. “Oi.” Sanji intoned to announce his return.

Usopp turned his head. “Aye, how did it go with the old man?”

Chopper had a huge grin on his face, eyes zipping back and forth across each page as he read with gusto. Sanji plopped down on his own bed, lying back with his arms outstretched to let his back muscles unbind as he sunk into the deep mattress. “Went alright.” He said, flicking his lighter to ignite the cigarette he’d been entertaining the idea of smoking for a while. “Went to the West Dock, damn finest fish I’ve ever seen. Saw some shitty pirates arriving, docking at a peer on the far side. Zeff told us we didn’t have to worry though, because the main dock is safe… Owner would make sure of that.”

Usopp threw his used towel up over the bathroom door. “Owner.” He mumbled. “Zoro said he was a ‘friend of the Strawhat Pirates’.”

Sanji let out a low snigger and a rivulet of yellow smoke. “Yea, got that right. Owner’s Red-Hair Shanks.”

All the color drained out of Usopp’s face, and even Chopper paused. They heard the reindeer close the book he had been reading. “Shanks?” the sniper breathed.

“Yea.”

“The pirate who gave Luffy his hat?” Chopper asked, practically bouncing up and down on his bed.

“My dad’s captain.” Usopp muttered. He shook his head violently. “Is he here, on the Island?” he demanded, “Is my dad here?”

“Donno.” Sanji stretched out his arms. “Old fart just told me that Shanks was in charge of shitty everything here.”

“Should we tell Luffy?” Chopper asked. “He’d want to know!”

Just at that moment there was a knock on their door. Nami and Robin came in, still wearing their heavy coats. ‘Ah! Nami-swan, Robin-chwan!’ Nami ignored the blonde cook as she shifted her coat off her shoulders.

“Have you guys seen Luffy or Zoro?” she asked, “They’re not in their room, or down in the lobby or restaurant.” Robin sat down on the bed next to Chopper, glancing at the title of the book he’d bought.

“Haven’t seen them since breakfast.” Usopp shook his head, as did Sanji and Chopper.

The cook scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Probably got lost somewhere.”

“Should we look for them?” Usopp suggested, glancing out the window at the fresh blue flakes that had begun to fall. The temperature had fallen below zero, he knew. Chopper had been very adamant about the fact that the end of his nose had almost frozen solid before he and the ships’ doctor had managed to get back to their room.

Nami bit her lip. They could search for them, but they didn’t even know which direction to look, and the city was huge. She shook her head. “We’ll find them tomorrow.” The Strawhat navigator consented, grinding her teeth. “Then I’ll beat their heads for making me worry.”

**

“How disgraceful.” Dracule Mihawk sighed from where he sat in a carved armchair, closing the book he had been reading with a snap as Benn Beckman negotiated his drunken captain through the door. Shanks was laughing, punching at the air and upending a side table before his first mate managed to throw him down on his bed with a soft *flump.

“What’re you doing here?” the dark haired first mate asked the Shichibukai, striking a match across his belt to light his cigarillo.

Dracule’s yellow eyes searched over the tall man, pistol at his hip, steady sober hands, always steady – even in the face of his captain’s drunkenness. “There are quite a lot of names piling up on the island right now, I though you should know.”

Benn let out a long breath and a puff of smoke. “Hope’s Carnival and all that, names are bound to pile up.”

“These are big names.” The swordsman stood up, his severe jaw set as he walked to the foot of Shanks’ bed and crossing his arms. “Revolutionaries, and three big-name-rookies are here right now, along with our usual repeat contestants. Other riffraff arrived today at the west end, and the Royals will all start to dock tomorrow. You’re supposed to be overseeing all this, Shanks!” The red haired captain giggled wetly, his head tipped back into the soft downy pillows. The Shichibukai’s eyes were drawn to the empty sleeve where the other man’s left arm used to be, and he scowled. “At least pretend to take your responsibilities a little more seriously?”

Shanks laughed, two bloodshot, tearing eyes fell down on the swordsman. “You worry too much, Hawky!” he gurgled. Benn chortled by the door. His Sencho was always like this…

Dracule’s entire face seemed to have seized up, fists rolled up into bloodless balls. “Drunken bastard.” He hissed, but he turned away, allowing one brief nod to Shanks’ first mate before gaining the hallway and letting the door to their room swing sharply closed.

Shanks was still gurgling, soft inebriated sounds of mirth.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him.” Benn admonishes, twisting the catch and lock on the door.

“Why not?” gasped the captain.

The taller man reaches down to remove his shirt, revealing a vast array of slashes and burns and impalements – all healed over ages ago to white and pink trails, worn like trophies. He tapped his cigarillo out in a dish beside his captain’s bed before leaning over the younger man, his hands on either side, bending forward to kiss him. Shanks’ lips were wet, and he tasted like rum. He always tasted like rum. That was his captain’s taste, and Benn grinned as the other man pushed upwards into his mouth, tasting him in his turn. Outside in the hallway there was a heavy thud against the wall, but nothing followed the sound, and the first mate chose to ignore it. “No reason.” He told his captain, taking his time to undo the buttons on his shirt, sliding off the dark mantel he wore. His eyes lingered on the stump of Shanks’ missing left arm for just a moment.

“Hope’s Carnival.” The captain breathed. “Is not a time to plan out every little detail. It would be no fun at all if I did that.”

“That’s true.” The dark haired first mate continued to peel the layers of clothing form his captain, brushing course fingertips along the other man’s abdomen and chest, touching at his flanks and up to his neck. They kissed again. “It’s best not to think about it.” He admitted between gasps.

“Aye!” The red haired captain huffed, muffled exhalations of ‘oh!’ and ‘god!’ and ‘please!’ slipping from his lips as the older pirate began to slowly work on him. Worrying his nipples with tender care while nipping along a quivering jawbone, he allowed the warm bubble of hot liquid to expand in his stomach, and he wrapped strong legs around his first mate to pull him closer.

 

### The Fourth Floor

### ~~~~*~~~~

Luffy had never noticed before, really never been in the position before, to take the amount of time required to realize just how brilliantly green Zoro’s eyes were. In the low light they had at first appeared dark, almost hazel, but after a while the young captain began to appreciate that they were actually a very deep jade, like the forest canopy of Jaya had been. Even his eyelashes were green, and when the swordsman blinked Luffy could see one tiny white scar on his right eyelid.

Draping one leg around his captain’s ankle, Zoro leaned across the table. Luffy could taste sake on his warm lips, but it was different to the night before, sweeter, and less of an obstacle between them. Their hands were clasped tightly on the polished tabletop, and Zoro hardly dared to breathe. He didn’t want that action to come into play between his and Luffy’s kiss, tongues bound up so nicely together, sliding over teeth and gums, searching madly – though with a certain conscious ache that Zoro was sure belonged solely to his captain.

When they drew away, both men were short of breath. Luffy put his back against the bench seat, eyes fixed on his first mate’s flushed face.

“What’s that look for?” Zoro asked when his captain kept staring.

“Zoro likes it, when I kiss him.” It really wasn’t a question, or a statement… Zoro wasn’t sure what it was, maybe Luffy was talking to himself?

“Well… yea.”

Luffy laughed, untangling his legs from Zoro’s and getting up. Their waiter bowed, the manager and other staff too, as the Strawhat Captain rushed passed, swordsman at his heals. Luffy pulled his coat from the rack, giggling and eyeing the green haired man before throwing himself back against the door to gain the freezing darkness beyond.

Zoro grinned at the look on Luffy’s face. ‘come and get me’ it said. Just like all those playful games of tag on the Merry with Usopp and Chopper, except this time… this time it was not so innocent an invitation. ‘come and get me, Zoro.’ It said, and he almost tore his coat sleeve off in his rush to get it over his shoulders, gathering his katana before hurrying after him.

Outside was freezing, far-far colder than it had been when the sun was up, colder than Zoro had possibly ever experienced. Cursing, he pulled on his gloves and twisted a scarf around his bare neck. There were no stars overhead, blocked by heavy snow cloud. There was snow falling, actually, in fluffy white pillows, piling up freshly to hide footprints made earlier that day. However, despite lack of moon and starlight, the first mate could see quite well. Strings of little bulbs, tall lamps, and glowing shop windows, even the faintest glimmer refracted off the snow like a prism, and the result was a soft rose color that blanketed everything. Zoro looked around, looking for his captain – and it wasn’t hard to find him.

Luffy was standing about thirty meters from him, his red coat with the fur trim at the neck allowing him to stand out. His straw hat perched up on his head, a sheet of fine crisp snow already settling upon the brim. He was facing his swordsman with a smile on his lips, nose already pink from the chill. “Zo-ro!” called the younger pirate, and he turned, running a straight line for the inn on the far side of the courtyard.

It was all the invitation Zoro needed.

**

“Ahn!” Shanks’ back arched as he was breached; two powerful, calloused hands squeezing down on his shoulders, holding him firmly against the mattress.

“Too much?” Benn breathed against the younger pirate’s neck before administering one long, slow lick over his captain’s right pectoral. Hips grinding before pulling back to snap forward with one audible *smack! The red haired man could only shake his head violently in response. His mouth moving soundlessly, but his first mate knew what he was trying to say. ‘More, oh! More!’

**

Zoro caught up with his captain about halfway across the courtyard, tackling him to the ground and flipping him over onto his back. Pinning both arms up over his head his swordsman pressed into him. Luffy didn’t appear to mind, giggling with his bright ‘shi-shi-shi’ with his back and shoulders buried in the snow. Zoro grinned as he shifted his weight to grind slowly against his captain, and was rewarded with a breathy exhale, Luffy’s girth hot against him – even through coat and pants.

After about a minute of wriggling and low whines (mostly from Luffy), both men were up and running again, Strawhat captain in the lead. He crashed through the doors to the hotel, startling several people who were carrying baggage. A man with a tuft of dirty-blond hair sidestepped to avoid being rammed into by the rubber man who collided with the counter instead, talking at full speed with the manager who stood behind it.

“Oya, oya.” The man grumbled. He and the large man standing next to him shook their heads.

Zoro burst through the doors a second later, and he checked on the carpet. He could see Luffy, stomach on the counter with his feet dangling off the edge, and the manager pointing at a piece of paper between them with a smile. Luffy was smiling too, nodding vigorously as the manager spoke. But it was the man standing nearer to the wall that caught Zoro’s eye, the man with blond hair, his bag baring the symbol of the Whitebeard Pirates. Even though the man was wearing a coat, scarf pulled up to his chin, there was no mistaking his hair, his sloping eyes... the sheer presence of First Division Commander, Marco the Phoenix. Realization seemed to be sinking into the other man as well, his eyes darting from Zoro’s green hair to his earrings to his three katana. But it was the man behind him that spoke to Zoro first.

“Roronoa Zoro, isn’t it?” The man was huge, at least twice the size of Zoro, round shoulders, all muscle and thick gristle.

“Diamond Jozu," Zoro smiled, crossing his arms, "Third Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates?” the swordsman guessed.

Jozu nodded. “Aye.” And he looked back to where Luffy was swinging his legs under the counter, still conversing with the manager. “Didn’t expect to see you rookies here for Hope’s Carnival.” He grunted, “Which Contest did you two enter?” a little smirk was pulling at the man’s lips, and Zoro saw also that Marco was grinning.

“What contest?” Zoro asked, scratching the back of his head, but he didn’t wait for response before starting forward. “Sorry, been a little busy.” He didn’t stay to elaborate with the two men, he was much more interested in something else; a certain rubbery body that was dangling like something delicious on the end of a stick.

“Yosh!” Luffy laughed, thanking the manager, and Zoro came up behind him, cupping both ass cheeks in his powerful hands.

“Are you finished here, Sencho?” he growled in Luffy’s ear. The younger man crooned.

“Upstairs, fourth floor… nhan! Room… 483.” He gasped as Zoro’s hands drifted upwards under his jacket to pull at his abdomen until he was held bodily against his swordsman; cold fingers were like ice against his skin, which he did not mind one bit.

Marco and Jozu still had their bags in their hands, observing the Strawhat Swordsman and Captain, two of the biggest bounty rookies on the Grand Line. The green haired pirate half carried the younger man as they scrambled to the lift. Desperate limbs flailing and groping at each other as they disappeared behind the closing doors.

“Gurararara.” Chortled an even larger man than Diamond Jozu, a man half hidden under a low curve of the wall. A white crescent under his nose, fur lined white coat with gold catches, and white trousers over black boots. The Whitebeard Pirate captain, Edward Newgate. “Imagine that!” he laughed. Marco gave a tentative smirk, watching the lift dial as it lit up and chimed, carrying the two rookies upwards.

**

Luffy had to put up a good fight to keep Zoro from tearing off his trousers, and as it was they were already halfway out of their coats when the lift rung and the doors opened. The green haired swordsman had his captain in his arms, katana tangling up in their legs as they fell out onto the carpet. He didn’t even notice the shocked disbelief of his yellow-eyed rival, who had been waiting for the lift to arrive. The Shichibukai’s mouth was half open, bemused words on the tip of his tongue, but he was having trouble even breathing. Instead he just watched the two rookies as they wrestled with each other for positions of dominance, slamming into the wall outside Shank’s and Benn’s room with enough force to rattle the lights, and completely oblivious to their immediate surroundings. After a moment Mihawk shook his head, stepped into the lift and pushing the button for the sixth floor, very grateful that he had not been assigned space on the fourth.

**

Zoro kicked the door closed, flicking on the lights with an arm flung out just for a moment. Luffy had hurried inside, gasping, coat hanging off one arm, and the button of his pants was undone, zipper a quarter-way down. He let his coat slide to the floor, his eyes on his swordsman. Now that they were alone, Luffy’s blood raced hot. He never had thought he would be having sex with Zoro, not in a million years. His eyes flicked to the enormous diagonal scar left by the Shichibukai, still pink and raw looking, even now, almost a year after he had received it.

“Oi, Sencho.” Zoro came up to Luffy, who was slightly shorter than he was, and put his hands out on his shoulders.

Luffy didn’t look at the older man’s face. He was too transfixed with his torso and abdomen, and the line of his trousers that led to other places he hadn’t really ever seen before – only glanced at in passing in the bath… he’d never really let himself look before. He could look now, though, and lifted a hand to place it down against that horrific scar, like a mountain range of raised and hardened tissue. He had many, many other little white lines and pink deformities from past wounds that had torn at his flesh. With his pointer and middle fingers, Luffy traced down the long line. A portion of the scar dipped down under Zoro’s waistline, and when Luffy reached that spot, he hooked his digits under the fabric, pulling their hips together.

“Zoro’s…” Luffy breathed, nuzzling against one muscular shoulder. His throat wasn’t working right, but he didn’t care. He just pulled again on his first mate’s trousers, knocking their hipbones together.

“You have, haven’t you?” Zoro asked, whispering into his captain’s neck, a hot breath against bare skin that sent shivers down the young captain’s spine. “Been with another man before?”

Luffy nodded, brushing his nose against his first mate’s neck, breathing him in. His hands drifted to the tie on Zoro’s pants, and he loosed it, pushing the fabric down so that it bunched around the older man’s booted feet. He licked his lips, aware that his ears were ringing, and everything around him had gone oddly fuzzy. His own blood-swelled cock hurt, but he pushed the sensation away. He’d been wanting to touch Zoro for an awful long time, and to rush through it now? No way!

Zoro allowed his captain’s fingers to grip down on his flanks, guiding him backwards. Soon he was on his back on the mattress, legs hung over the side, and Luffy was removing all other clothing that remained between them. After piling everything in a heap, the captain provided one long lick across his first mate’s naked stomach, one hand playing in the green tuft of hair just above an impressive erection. Luffy had notice that, of course, and he was very excited to know that Zoro was even bigger than he was. Wider, longer… he had never known anyone longer than he was.

“Zoro said he was gonna have his way with me.” Luffy breathed, pressing down on Zoro’s hips as he dropped down to his knees between his first mate's legs.

The green haired pirate gasped. “Sencho…”

“But I’m the captain.” Luffy said, and Zoro could hear him smiling. “And Zoro’s gatta do what I tell him.” He licked up the side of the older man’s thigh, giggling as the action sent a spasm down the rest of his leg. “Relax.” he breathed. Another long, hot lick to taste his swordsman from thigh to just behind his knee joint.

Zoro shivered and made a strangled sound.

“Promise I’m gonna make Zoro feel good.”

 

### Sing

### ~~~~*~~~~

Luffy had the darkest hair that Zoro had ever seen, like a pool of midnight black. It had changed a bit since the first time he met his captain. On that strange day. The swordsman had been tied to a post, beaten and starved for three weeks, barely slept. His skin had burnt and re-burnt so many times. His only saving grace was that he had been wearing his bandana when he was arrested by that stupid son, he might have lost his hair to sunburn otherwise. Of all the tortures Zoro had found himself experiencing, being exposed to the elements was the most excruciating… and also the most boring. There had been nothing to distract himself from the slow pain of cutting wind blowing across cooked and splitting skin. Luffy had suddenly appeared. Just jumped right over that stone wall – stood right in front of him, and asked him if he was really strong? Zoro had stared at him, back then, and his hair… it had been brown.

“Zoro said he was gonna have his way with me.” Luffy’s voice finds its way into his ears, almost as if he were underwater.

“Sencho…”

Tracks of hot fire, followed by a cool tingle of drying saliva, shook Zoro’s legs; Luffy’s warm touch passing across his skin so- so sweetly. “… I’m the captain, and Zoro’s gatta do what I tell him.” The younger pirate didn’t stop, and Zoro put his head back against the mattress, grabbing handfuls of bedding. He wants this. He had been dreaming about this… his shoulders jerked as Luffy lifted his length, tongue sliding along the soft, sensitive skin on the underside of his shaft from root to tip. The swordsman’s whole body shook.

“Sencho!” he moaned again, and now there was urgency rattling off his tongue.

“Relax.” Luffy whispered into Zoro’s inner thigh, resting his forehead against his first mate’s sweat-dampened hip, and Zoro knew his captain was grinning. “Promise I’m gonna make Zoro feel good.”

Relax… for as much time as the swordsman spent meditating and napping and training, considering himself a master of his own body and emotions, the whole idea of ‘relaxing’ was completely absurd. Luffy obviously knew what he was doing, but Zoro hadn’t ever done this before, never with a man – he’d had a few girls before, sure… he’d given it a try. What other option did he have, when Yosaku and Johnny kept teasing him about still being a virgin… but he hadn’t really enjoyed himself, and they teased him about that too – until he gave one of the East Blue bounty hunters the beating of their lives. He didn’t know why it hadn’t felt as good as everybody said it should. All those stories he’d heard about it. It felt good now, though… the way Luffy’s tongue trailed up and down his inner thighs, fingers pinching his ass or scooping up to fondle his lower back, driving deeply into knitted muscle. Luffy’s incredibly strong fingers… that seemed… seemed to know… exactly…

“Ahannaha! Sencho!” Zoro’s back, bent the way that it was: reclined on the mattress with both feet still nearly flat on the floor, made him feel horribly vulnerable, so he pushed himself up, standing against the side of the bed while hugging Luffy’s shoulders against his lower belly.

Luffy passed the flats of his hands over Zoro’s thighs, up over his butt and as far up along the older man’s spine as possible. “Zoro’s hard all over.” The captain observed, applying a line of small nips to the thick abdominal muscle in front of him.

“I… Luffy…”

“ ‘s Zoro’s first? I’m Zoro’s first?” How Luffy could do that, the swordsman could never figure out. He never had to actually talk out loud for Luffy, because he always… just knew. “Zoro’s first man.” Reaching back Luffy took hold of Zoro’s ass cheeks, gripping with as much pressure as possible without crossing that line into actual pain, Luffy pushed and pulled and spread his first mate, giggling to himself with a deep resonating hunger, and that giggle vibrated through Zoro’s body. “That’s good.”

**

Frozen darkness settled over the peer, a darkness so complete that it seeped into any open pore not covered by at least three layers of fabric. Ice hung off the docks in thick ropes, encrusted on wooden supports and the bottom of planking, creating slush in the surf that scraped against the hulls of the ships tied there. Harry, the port master, was huddled up in his small watch-room, fire crackling away behind the grate in the stove. With his feet up on a stool, blanket over his shoulders, and a steaming cup of spiced coffee, he was settling in for one last quiet night before the Royals began to arrive. Hope’s Carnival beginning in just one more day. “Gonna be grand.” He sighed to himself with a wide smile, breathing in the hot steam of his drink through his black mustache, fingers pressing against the warmth of the cup.

Outside the window, where the man’s sharp eyes are always drawn, he perceives a vessel coming out of the dark night, floating along black water in a familiar blaze that stretched the watch-man’s lips even wider. Harry put his cup down on the little stove in the center of the room, pulling on coat and gloves and hat and scarf… before stepping out onto the icy dock to await the arrival of a man who was no stranger to Kibo Island, or Hope’s Carnival, but who had not been expected to arrive this year. Old Harry would stand on the dock in the cold for this good man, because he deserved a proper greeting.

**

Luffy watched Zoro’s body closely – every muscle, every facial expression, finger movement, knee twitch, curl of a toe… everything, because he knew how important this first time would be for him… for them. He had Zoro prone on the bed, belly down, straddling his lower back, arms curled up and under his first mate’s shoulders. Their hot breath mixing together, Zoro’s head tilted back as far as it could go so that he could taste Luffy’s tongue as they kissed, and kept kissing until they ran out of air… and when Luffy drew away he refocused his lips and tongue and all his boiling energy into the bare skin of his swordsman’s neck and shoulders and back.

Zoro had no mark on his back, not even a mole. Luffy had heard his grand proclamation enough times ‘a wound on the back is shameful’, or other variations that meant essentially the same thing. He had always basked in the feeling created by those statements, because he was so proud that he had the greatest swordsman in the world as his own (because even though Zoro didn’t think he was the best yet, Luffy did, and he wouldn’t hear a word otherwise).

Tracing the lines of hard muscle on either side of Zoro’s spine with his tongue, Luffy brought both his hands down, one on either side of his chest, just below the armpit. In this way he could feel every hitch and breath Zoro took, the small noises that he desperately tried to hold back, and the vibration of twisting muscle that he had not yet found control over. Luffy slowed, breathing in the hot musk rising from the nape of his first mate’s neck. “Zoro.” He breathed into the older man’s skin, a new raw voice that Zoro had not yet heard before.

Words were impossible for the green haired man, trembling and fighting an unbelievable desire to cry out. Luffy chuckled at him, his fingers beginning to move against his skin, and Zoro keened. Leaning back, Luffy lifted Zoro from the bed, pulling him into his chest so that they were both kneeling with their bodies pressed together, stomach to back. The younger pirate’s arms sliding forward to grope and touch. His right hand slipping around his swordsman’s cock, hot and wet with pre-come, and so hard*.

“Does it hurt?” Luffy asked, palming the side of Zoro’s shaft.

“nhhn!” was all that the green haired man could manage, nostrils flaring to take in as much air as possible while keeping his teeth clamped tightly shut. Luffy sunk his own teeth into the crook of his first mate’s neck and shoulder, and Zoro’s eyes flew wide. “Se-Se-Sencho!”

“Good.” Luffy whispered as he drew away, tongue tracing the red marks left behind. He had not drawn blood. He wasn’t sure Zoro would like that, but he was certainly curious to find out. “Wanna hear Zoro.” Luffy rubbed up against the older man’s back, hooking one hand around and driving two fingers into Zoro’s warm mouth, pulling against his jaw. “Wanna hear Zoro sing.”

**

Marco the Phoenix stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his middle, another draped over his shoulders. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and the soft mattress gave under him. This was his usual room, First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, on the third floor of the hotel. How many times had he come to compete in the Contestant Battles? Thirty years? Fourty? His devil’s fruit seemed to keep him much younger than the rest of the people he watched getting old around him. Marco was in his late fifties, just like his captain, but he felt and looked like a man of twenty-five (sometimes thirty-five if he was having a bad day). The mirror on the far wall reflected back his frame, and he traced over it with his eyes. Musculature on his arms, back, abdomen, even his legs – tight and chiseled as always. He had only a few wrinkles, under his eyes, but his brow and chin and cheeks retained the illusion of youth. His hair, dark sandy-blonde, had no grey in it.

Marco sighed. He was not as excited for Hope’s Carnival as he usually was. The year having not been kind to him, or is crew. Thatch’s death because of Teach’s betrayal, then Ace’s decision to leave them so he could hunt down Teach on his own. None of them had heard a word from the Second Division Commander since. Weather he was alive or dead, captured, or taken up by another set of hands. Marco’s eyes fixed upon the enormous tattoo on his chest, the emblem of the Whitebeard Pirates. Ace had the same tattoo on his back. Ace… who had pronounced that tattoo as his greatest pride. But Marco could still remember, and could not bring himself to forget – just how reluctant the Captain of the Spade pirates had been to pledge fealty to Whitebeard. Part of him wondered if it was possible for the same thing to happen again.

*t-tack t-tack* The steady knock on the door prompted another heavy sigh from the Mythical Zoan. Wondering if Jozu wanted to talk gossip about the other contestants… and usually he’d be all for it… *t-tack t-tack*

“Alright!” Marco half breathed, half snapped, getting up from the bed and drawing a robe over himself. He opened the door. “What’s so –”

Marco’s fingers slipped on the knob, and the door swung wide. A soft *thud as it made contact with the wall. His stomach turned over and over and over… painful knots binding and unbinding in the vicinity of his heart and lungs. His eyes began to burn, and he was only vaguely aware that his mouth was open, lower lip trembling.

Bright laughter, brighter than the rising summer sun, escaped from the freckled man standing in the hallway. Cheeks and chin red from being out in the cold, pale and blued fingers protruding from the fur-lined cuffs of his coat because he had obviously not had any gloves to protect his skin. Not that it mattered, Logia Users are often exempt from such discomforts, especially where weather is concerned. “It’s been a long time, Marco!” Ace smiled.

 

### Until Morning

### ~~~~*~~~~

“Wanna hear Zoro sing.”

Luffy’s fingers tasted like meat, lamb and chicken and pork, rubbing against the inside of Zoro’s cheek like that. He could feel his captain’s hot need hard on his back, and groaned as the younger man pushed against him. He sucked at Luffy’s fingertips, biting, and because Luffy was made of rubber, even when he bit a little too hard he didn’t manage to draw blood with his flat molars.

Luffy gave a low laugh, breathing deeply as he permitted Zoro to rest back down on the bed and turn over onto his side so they could lay together, passing hands over one another’s naked bodies. Luffy was thinking hard; really ready to go further, but… he didn’t have any… he grumbled a little, looking about the room.

“What is it?” Zoro asked, taking advantage of the fact that he was able to think clearly for a moment.

“Just… wanna…” Luffy’s eyes came down on the table beside their bed. A little basket was set there, like the welcome package they had gotten in their own room – and he grinned. Crawling forward he pulled out a bottle, staring at the label before settling back down, taking Zoro’s lips as he did. Zoro fell into his captain’s kiss, his body still hot, heart beating almost painfully against his ribs.

“Luffy…” Zoro gasped.

“Mmm?”

“Are we gonna…”

“Mmm.” Luffy giggled, thumbing off the cap of the lotion he’d pulled from the basket. The younger man broke their kiss, pushing Zoro down onto his back; brown eyes searching his swordsman, his first nakama. He didn’t say anything, just squeezed out a measure of lotion onto his hands, warming it between his fingers before reaching down to stroke Zoro. The swordsman was big enough to warrant the use of both hands, of course, but Luffy had other ideas, very-better different ideas.

“L-Lu.. ah… !” Zoro wriggled a bit as Luffy’s other hand began caressing lightly between his ass cheeks, lingering to circle his puckered opening before coming back to cup and fondle his balls, the other hand moving with long, fluid motions up and down his shaft.

“Is it good, Zoro?” Luffy asked, dipping back again, taking a little longer to loop around the tense flesh as his swordsman trembled from head to foot.

He wasn’t talking, and his captain wasn’t sure that he could, which was fine by him. If Zoro didn’t like it he would certainly be able to talk, so he just grinned, increasing the pace of his touch. After a while, teasing Zoro this way, Luffy adjusted himself so that he could drive into him, one finger gently spreading him open for his first time. Luffy watched and listened closely with every slow and deliberate reach and rotation, because this was no joke, and he knew it.

Zoro’s body was on fire, inside and out, and when Luffy’s first knuckle broke past the protective muscular ring and entered into him – he thought he might just burn away, or break apart and start screaming… But he didn’t. He hardly made a sound, in fact, as Luffy’s next knuckle slipped in and began to push and turn and rub inside. This new sensation confused Zoro, his mind desperately trying to equate it with some other experience or sensation… but there was nothing like it. Nothing at all that felt so good, and… wrong… but right… oh! So very-very right!

Luffy’s lips wrapped around the head of Zoro’s cock, fingers tickling at the green hair at his base, other hand sliding another slick digit into him. Skin and muscle giving away, and the older man allowed himself a small sound of pleasure. Just a bit, a moan that had his captain’s name in it.. “…oh, Luffy…y-y-yes!”

As if that gasp was the breaking point of permission, Luffy’s blood boiled. His balls hurt, his cock swollen and red and hard and pressed up against Zoro’s leg. He dipped his elbow, driving a third finger into his first mate’s body, hooking and pushing, sliding in the warmth that belonged to him. Luffy was horribly aware that he should ask for Zoro’s permission before he just started into him, very aware… as he removed his three fingers, slopping lotion clumsily over himself with trembling hands before wriggling in between the green haired man’s legs. His grip was on Zoro’s flanks, lifting him into position. Damn it! He needed to say something! …but he didn’t want to… he…

“I want you, Sencho.” Zoro’s calloused hand was on Luffy’s cheek, thumb stroking his lower lip, sliding in the sweat that poured out of him. “All of you.”

Those deep jade eyes staring at him, half lidded behind feathery green eyelashes. Tan cheeks flushed pink, soft short green hair wet with sweat, and the light, scarcely heard *chime of brass earrings. And then he smiled. And it was everything that Luffy ever wanted in the world. He was already the Pirate King, right here, right now, with his greatest swordsman in the world.

Luffy lowered himself, sliding slowly – as slowly as he could, until he was buried deep into Zoro. The older man crooned, back arching to take his captain into his body. It didn’t hurt, because Luffy had prepared him so thoroughly, but those three fingers were by no means equal to the length and girth of the young captain. As he was pushed into, Zoro felt his insides opening, and when Luffy was fully inside, he gasped, and let out a low groan before the two men pressed together to shiver and sweat and kiss through the first few moments of their new connection.

“Gonna move.” Luffy gasped, the green stubble on Zoro’s cheek scratching against his as the swordsman nodded.

Dropping his hips back, Luffy supported himself with an arm on either side of Zoro’s chest, and his first mate wrapped his hands around his arms, squeezing with his thrusts, all thoughts of keeping quiet completely evaporated. Zoro’s voice was as sweet as crashing waves on a clear morning at sea, and Luffy reveled in the sound. And each time he drew back to buck forward, the pace quickened. Heavy wet slaps soon joined the swordsman’s low moans, and Luffy’s breath turned into gentle whines of need and concentration. He didn’t want to go so fast, he wanted to go for hours… he never wanted to stop… but he was only seventeen… and as he bucked and panted, fingers full of bedding and Zoro calling his name with such… oh!… His swordsman was bucking too, driving him deeper, harder, faster… he was… his…

Zoro’s hands gripped down, fingers digging into the captain’s rubber arms, and his eyes flew open. Luffy knew how that look felt, and he grinned. “There?” he crooned, grinding with gleeful determination.

The swordsman nodded, licking his lips. “W-what is… ah! Ahnn! Luffy!”

“That’s Zoro’s spot.” Luffy crooned grinding forward again, his hips hitching back to buck forward into him. The older man gasped, hands still so tight on his captain’s arms that bruises were beginning to form, discoloring the skin with broken blue capillaries. Luffy did not care. He liked that. He liked that it was Zoro doing it, and he drew back, driving forward with such force that they both heard the sound of flesh on flesh. And then he did it again… and again… and…

Zoro did scream this time, or as close to a scream as Luffy had ever heard from him. The captain drew back once more, and halfway back inside his own breath hitched, the pulsating muscles inside Zoro squeezing against him so-so nicely, and he shivered as he came inside. His arms shook, and he watched a few drops of cold sweat fall from the end of his nose and onto Zoro’s heaving abdomen. They watched each other, still connected, neither wanting or daring to move.

“Sencho.” Zoro reached up to pull Luffy down on top of him, hugging the backs of his captain’s shoulders so that their chests pressed together.

They remained this way, until morning. Because they didn’t care that they were sweaty and hot, or that they were still slightly connected (until Luffy slipped out some time later). None of it mattered at all, and they slept wrapped in each other’s arms without even drawing the blankets over their bodies.

**

Dracule Mihawk pushed open the door to his room. He still didn’t quite believe what he’d just seen. It wasn’t that it was two men – he was a man of the world, and that sort of thing was as normal as breathing… No, it was the condition of the man intended to surpass him. He had no control! No patience! He would have been caught completely off guard! The Shichibukai ground his teeth together as he flicked on the lights. And it seemed his evening full of annoyances was not yet over.a

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” he sighed. “Basil Hawkins.”

The robed rookie from North Blue sat calmly as Mihawk closed the door to his room. He had wavy blond hair down to his hips, and a series of tattooed horns above his relaxed brow line. Before him was an array of wiry fingers, which seemed to grow out of the man himself, and onto these he placed cards. He said nothing to Dracule until he had set down three more cards.

“Hope’s Carnival.” Basil intoned, his voice oddly gentle, though Mihawk was no fool, and knew sprouting power when it sat in front of him. Hawkins might not be able to actually beat him, but he was strong. Rumors of his Devil's Fruit ability spoke of a man who could be killed over and over again, and each time would rise again. He would take a monstrous form to lay waste to entire cities, and all his rivals would beg for mercy before they were consumed. Not that the Shichibukai was all that worried, but this was no place to begin a fight. “Is something of an enigma to me.”

“Humph.” Mihawk crossed the room, taking his black Meito from his back and propping it fastidiously up against the far wall. “Is that all?” he scoffed. “Go back to your own room, and wait for the festivities to unfold.”

Basil did not move. “Why would a Shichibukai such as yourself be here? A pirate’s carnival… it seems very out of place.”

At this Hawkeye laughed. “A Pirate’s Carnival?” he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Is that what you pathetic rookies think is going on here?”

The blond man frowned.

“Let me enlighten you, boy.” Dracule Mihawk slipped his mantle from his shoulders, both imperious eyes upon the high-bounty rookie. “Hope’s Carnival is older than marines, or pirates, or royals, or even mankind itself!” he hissed. “If you are worthy, it is a fine way to have some fun. If you are unworthy, you will die, painfully, in whatever horrible way Kibo decides to end your life.”

“Is that a challenge?” Basil asked, collecting his cards, meticulously stacking them before placing them into his pocket.

“Not from me.” Mihawk turned his back. “Spectate, run away, participate… decide for yourself! Maybe after a few days your questions will result in some answers you can live with.”

The North Blue rookie stood from his seat and made for the door. His hand was halfway around the handle when he turned again. “One more question.” He said.

“Yes, what is it?”

“The Revolutionary, Dragon,” Basil said. “Why is it the two of you arrived on Kibo together?”

Hawkeye did not turn, and the other man did not see his eyes twitch and widen ever so slightly. “Enjoy Hope’s Carnival, Captain: Basil Hawkins.”

 

### Good Morning

### ~~~~*~~~~

When the sun came up, a white frozen morning on Kibo Island, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Nami, and Robin all went down to the lobby together. Nami was puffy eyed, because she kept waking up, worried about Luffy and Zoro. Robin had also stayed awake in the hopes that she would hear them in the hallway, though by her appearance she looked as refreshed as she ever did. The historian was often awake for several days without sleep, a side effect of the life she had lived before meeting Luffy and his crew. The boys had slept, not overly concerned that their captain and swordsman would freeze to death, or find themselves in any trouble. After Sanji’s report about Shanks owning the entire island, he thought they would be safe as houses.

“Good morning!” The receptionist beamed at them brightly. “One day before Hope’s Carnival!” she sang, and the smile stretching across her lips was so infectious that Nami allowed a grin to slip through her stoic worry. “All Contestant Battle participants should sign up before the end of the day!” the blond woman intoned, suddenly serious. She had on a plaid suite today, green and yellow and blue crisscrosses over clean white. She reached down under the counter. “And…” she muttered, producing a handful of letters, riffing through them. “For Usopp of the Strawhat Pirates…” she handed the sniper his letter. “Sanji, Strawhat Pirates…” the cook too, received his letter. “Nami, Strawhat Pirates…” she flipped through the other envelopes, then nodded. “Please be sure to dress very warmly if you go out today. A new pack fell on the upper slope during the night, and the wind coming down out of the north can be very dangerous.”

“Thank you very much.” Robin nodded her head politely, and the woman bowed back.

“Who’s it from?” Chopper asked Usopp as the five Strawhats made their way into the restaurant for breakfast.

“Donno.” Before getting food they sat down, and the three who had received letters split them open.

“Contestant Battle Royal Invitation?” Nami said, reading down her letter. “I’ve been invited to participate in a Contestant Battle, by… by VIVI?” Nami turned over the letter. “To represent Alabasta in the Challenge of Storms.”

“What’s that mean?” Chopper asked.

“No idea… w-What did you two get?” she asked, as Usopp and Sanji were both staring at their own letters.

“The Old Fart wants me to partner him in an Ice Fish Challenge.” Sanji said, “Says here ‘the taste of danger, most endeared, adored, and deadly of this Grand Sea.’”

Usopp wasn’t saying anything, but his hands had begun to shake, the paper flittering a little.

“Oi, what you get, Usopp?” Sanji asked. And when the sniper did not respond he pulled the paper from his fingers. “To Usopp of the Strawhat Pirates…” The cook read out, and he choked a little. “…you are hereby invited to attend the Contest of Targets, as partner to the renowned sharpshooter, Yasopp of the Red Hair Pirates.”

“He’s here.” Usopp breathed, and his arms slipped off the table to hang at his sides. There was a smile on his lips, but he looked lost and terrified. “Dad’s… my dad’s here.”

Robin giggled, putting her chin in her hands. “You’ll be able to see him again, your father. Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course!” Usopp nearly shouted, looking up, but his hands started shaking. “But… partner in a contest… What does it mean?”

“Contestant Battles.” A man came up behind the five Strawhats. He had blond hair and round blue eyes, a wicked looking burn across the left side of his face. It must have been a deep wound at one time, and it distorted the shape of the eye that peeked out at them from behind the ruined flesh. He sat down at their table, setting down a black top hat next to the water pitcher. He had on a white ruffled shirt, blue coat over that, and smiled at them as if they were family. “Name’s Sabo, nice to meetcha!”

He sounded so much like Luffy that Nami blinked.

Sabo leaned one elbow on the table. “So you’re the famous Usopp from Syrup Villiage?” he said, eyeing the curly haired sniper.

Usopp shifted uncomfortably. “Who told you that?” he asked.

The blond man laughed. “Yasopp!” he said. “Talks about you all the time! Especially after you get a few drinks in ‘im.” He sighs. “Never stops talking about the son he left behind, because he’s such a worthless parent.”

“Oi!” Usopp snarled, his chair flying back behind him and banging into another table.

“His words.” Sabo told him, holding up one hand. “Don’t blame me for what he calls himself.”

“Who are you?” Sanji asked as Usopp picked up his chair, breath still heaving in his throat.

“I’m a revolutionary.” He said proudly. “Here to compete in the Contestant Battles of Hope’s Carnival.”

“Revolutionary?” Chopper asked.

Robin patted the Zoan’s small hoof. “Revolutionaries are direct enemies of the World Government.” She said. “To be honest I have never met one before.”

“Nico Robin.” Sabo bowed his head. “But you do have a famous name.”

“I am surprised a revolutionary soldier does not. How long have you been part of the fold?” the dark woman asked.

A smile played across the man’s scared face, and for just a moment his eyes slackened. “Nearing a decade, now that I think of it.” He breathed. “We give up our lives, to fight for the world... Part of why I came here today.”

“Eh, you want something?” Sanji asked, folding his invitation and sliding it into his suit pocket. “We’re pirates, so don’t go think we’re a shitty charity.”

Sabo laughed again. “No, nothing like that. I-I just wanted to ask you… Your captain, Monkey D Luffy?”

“Yes?” Nami said. “What about him?”

The man sucked at one of his front teeth, and the navigator saw that there was a crack in it, leaving a round gap. “He’s happy, right?” he choked. “As a pirate? He’s free?”

“Free?” Robin asked.

“A man that lives with more freedom than anyone.” Sabo lamented. “On the sea of adventure.”

Sanji watched the revolutionary pick at a spot on his jacket. He wouldn’t meet their eyes. “Oi. What’s with that question?”

The man smiled. “I worry about him, sometimes… He’s been through a lot.”

Nami couldn’t stop staring at Sabo, because she knew he was hiding something. “Who are you to him?” she asked. “To Luffy, I mean?”

He just smiled wider, shaking his head. “Sorry to disturb you.” He managed to say, voice wet as he picked up his hat and plunked it down on his head. He turned away from them almost immediately. “Better hurry and get signed up for your Contests… Hope’s Carnival is tomorrow after all.” He said as he hurried up the room and out the door.

Sanji had half a mind to follow after him, but at the arrested look on Nami’s face he decided to remain where he was, pressing her hand instead. The fact that she didn’t bat him away was a little disconcerting.

**

Pale sunlight slipped in between the gap in the curtains, falling across Benn’s face. It was a rude morning greeting, but whatever. He got up to draw the gap closed, turning back to see that Shanks was still in a dead sleep. Legs all twisted up in the sheets. His mouth wide open and snoring, with a bit of drool slipping down his chin. They had gone several rounds during the long night, and Benn knew that when his captain did wake up he would have a fantastic hangover.

Deciding to step out to buy a bottle of spiced rum as a morning present, Benn dressed, pushed open the door, and leaned against it to light one thin, brown cigarillo. He allowed the first couple of drags to seep into his lungs, the exhaled smoke wafting up and carried along the ceiling, sucking up into the heating vents. He chuckled at the thought that the smoke might somehow make it up to Hawkeye’s room on the sixth floor.

A few rooms down another door opened, and a man with green hair walked out wearing only black trousers and green hamaraki. Benn froze. Three shiny earrings swung from the man’s left ear as he yawned, scratching the back of his head. As he turned to walk down the hallway the other first mate saw the livid bite mark gracing his left shoulder.

“Morning.” Zoro grunted, still scratching his head. “Oi, you wouldn’t know if this place has food, would you?”

Benn was trying to keep his heart from exploding out of his chest. Roronoa Zoro? And with that bite mark? If Luffy was in that room he had just come out of, and if Shanks… if they ran into one another… Not that it would be such a bad thing… but…

“Oi?” Zoro asked again. “You alright?”

“Eh? Oh, food? There’s a restaurant on the main floor…”

Zoro suddenly made a sharp noise through his teeth, because a few meters from them the lift opened and Dracule Mihawk came out of it. His hand instinctively reached for his right hip, but he didn’t have his swords on him, and he cursed.

Dracule saw the motion, and he grinned from ear to ear… “Disgraceful.” He intoned with self-righteous venom. “Wandering about defenseless as a child. At least you noticed my presence this time.” He scoffed.

“EH?!”

But the Shichibukai just ignored Zoro’s indignant posture, in favor of fixing Benn with a dark glare. “Is he awake?” he asked the Red Hair Pirate's First Mate.

Benn blew a cloud of thick brown smoke into the feather on Mihawk’s hat. “No, he isn’t, you’ll have to come back later.”

“He should be on the East Dock by now. Does he plan on going there at all?”

“Probably not.” The black haired pirate shrugged, taking another slow drag. “It would be so boring to plan out every little detail.”

The Shichibukai’s face flushed dark crimson. “Like Captain, like First Mate.” He muttered, and he spun around on the spot, knocking into Zoro’s shoulder before stepping back into the lift. The doors closed and the dial spun to show he had gone to the main floor.

“Prick.” Benn breathed, closing his eyes and taking another long drag.

Zoro laughed. “He’s still the best.” He grinned, and Benn saw the hungry glare in the swordsman’s eye; fixed on the closed elevator doors where Hawkeye had departed.

“You really think so, don’t you?” he asked, grinning in his turn.

Zoro cocked at eye at the taller, older man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Benn puffed out another cloud. “You think that little shrimp Shichibukai is the best swordsman in the world?”

For a moment Zoro thought about that statement. Yes, he believed it. Everywhere he went - everyone, without hesitation, had told him that Mihawk, the man with the Eyes of the Hawk, was the best. Wasn’t he? “You know someone better?” he asked.

“I know the man who can beat Mihawk with one hand.” He told Zoro fiercely.

The green haired man’s heart skipped and hammered just a bit. “With one hand?”

“That’s right.”

“…”

“Oya-oya.” The door Benn was leaning against opened, and the man stumbled a little, though to his credit he did not fall. “Is it morning already, I thought I heard Hawky out here…”

Red Hair Shanks stepped out next to his first mate, rubbing his right palm into his face, eyes bloodshot, head pounding for lack of fresh alcohol in his bloodstream. Benn choked, and Zoro stared at them. Shanks’ eyes came into focus very slowly, staring up and down the shirtless Strawhat swordsman with his green hair and hamaraki and the three earrings, and the huge chest scar… he let his arm slip down to his side.

Zoro didn’t know Shanks, had never seen his wanted poster or heard anything about him. He could never pay attention to Luffy’s stories about his idol, because his young captain would keep getting sidetracked, or he would have to fight with Sanji before hearing any real details. “Oi?” he said. Pointing at the man who had just come out of the room. “Him?” he asked Benn. “The man who can beat Hawkeye?”

Shanks sniffed, “Beat Hawky?” he chortled. “Sure.”

Zoro tried to imagine this man, this ordinary-looking man, beating Dracule Mihawk. Looks were very deceiving, and were not always reliable, but he spotted the missing left arm, and empty sleeve tied up at his shoulder. “Who took your arm, old man?” he asked.

Benn’s blow came out of nowhere, so fast that Zoro hadn’t even sensed it. It had been a long-long time since that had happened to him. The cut he’d gotten last night in the restaurant had landed, sure, but he had half seen it. When the First Mate of the Red Hair Pirates reached for the but of his pistol and swung it up into his jaw, he hadn’t seen shit. The strike split the skin on his chin and cheek, and also inside his mouth, teeth clapping together to make his eyes rattle. A wave of coppery blood washed across his tongue and he jerked back against the opposite wall.

“O-oi!” Shanks’ hand came down on his first mate’s shoulder before the man could launch himself forward at the disoriented younger pirate.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Zoro spat blood onto the carpet. Strong guys kept appearing. Strong, fast guys.

“ZORO!” the door to his and Luffy’s room banged open and Luffy came out, wearing just his shorts and his straw hat. He ran to his swordsman, eyes stretched in anger at the sight of blood, and the blackened skin already spreading the length of his first mate's cheek. “Oi…” he growled, turning to face… the two… men…

“Sh-Shanks.” He breathed, and looking at Benn his arms fell to his sides. He gaped at them for a moment, before his face stretched with livid and unmistakable rage. “What? WHAT DID YOU DO TO ZORO!”

 

### Don't!

### ~~~~*~~~~

Trafalgar Law leaned against the freezing metal railing on the balcony attached to his room. Bepo pressed up at his back to help keep the thin pirate warm. Law had a coat on, but his navigator just couldn’t stand watching him shiver like that. He was, however, too excited by the arriving Royal Fleets to tear himself away from the view.

“Delegates from Fujula.” Law muttered, binoculars pressed up against his eyes, dark circles visible underneath. There was already frost on his paled lips.

“Captain, you should come inside for a little while.” Penguin called from the sliding glass door. Most of his body was inside, and he shivered for the icy wind hitting his face. “Captain!”

Bepo wrapped his furry arms around Law’s chest, trying to shield him from the majority of the wind. The navigator didn’t say anything, because he knew Law wouldn’t listen. He never did, when he found something interesting to occupy him. The polar bear just knew he was waiting for delegates from Dressrosa to appear. The thought brought no comfort to him, as he was sure it brought no comfort to Law. What would he do if he saw his former captain? His brothers? What would happen if they recognized him? Bepo pushed these questions from his mind. His job. His *only job, was to protect his captain.

 

Penguin pulled his head and shoulders back into their room and shut the sliding door. “Damn it, Captain.” He cursed, kicking the bed nearest to him, and immediately regretting it as he hopped up and down clutching his bruised foot.

“He’ll come in when he gets cold enough, just sit and relax.” Shachi was busy balancing rocks on the table. He had been carrying around the same bag of flat stones all the way from North Blue, where he took up with the Surgeon of Death, Trafalgar. Stacking the stones up almost as tall as he was sometimes, Penguin knew that was how his nakama coped with stress.

“He hasn’t even signed up for contest yet, has he?”

“Donno,” sighed Shachi. “Why don’t you ask him.”

“What the hell did we come here for? We’re not ready for this place!”

One of Shachi’s stones slithered free and the whole tower clattered onto the tabletop. The brown haired man sighed again. “Penguin, go find something to do.” He begged. “I’m sure there’s a pirate around here who would love to fight with you.”

**

Marco and Ace hadn’t slept, and the sun was coming up outside before they even spoke. They had simply sat together, all night, Ace’s hand pressed up against Marco’s… blue phoenix flame melting and mixing with Ace’s red fire. It captivated them both, after their time apart. It was only as the sun came up that the little dance of their own light became dim and distracted.

It was Marco who pulled away first.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” The Zoan choked. Ace watched the older pirate bow his head. He seemed very, very tired, his shoulders hunched up, hands gripping down on his knees. “Does this mean you’re giving it up? Looking for Teach?”

Ace’s mouth went dry. “You know I can’t do that.” He said, and it was hard to speak.

“Shanks asked the Old Man to stop you.” Marco plunged on.

“Did he?” Ace smiled. “What right’s he got to interfere?”

“I don’t care if he’s got any right!” Marco gasped, and one hand left his knee to grip Ace’s forearm, fingernails digging into his flesh. Ace of course could have easily changed his physical body to flames – could have effortlessly escaped Marco’s bruising touch, but he didn’t. Part of him wanted that sensation of skin to skin, even if it was painful. The pain was good. It meant he was still alive. “I don’t care what reason anyone has, as long as you come home.”

“Don’t.” Ace muttered, watching tears fall from the older pirate’s eyes, flowing down his pale cheeks to fall into his robe. “Marco.”

**

Zeff rubbed at the fleshy stump at the junction where his thigh met the peg. He hadn’t visited Kibo once since he had lost his leg all those years ago. The cold did not agree with his detached nerves. Banban’s cane tapped on the floor, and a mug of hot beer clicked down onto the table next to the former pirate captain.

“When you suggested we meet up on Kibo…” The other cook said, taking his own mug from the counter and sitting down in the chair opposite Zeff. “I didn’t think you’d be fool enough to sign up for one of the Contestant Battles.” Banban took a long swallow, his old neck working. He wiped his mouth with the back of one wrinkled arm. “You looking to get yourself killed, Red Leg?”

“Hah!” Zeff let his wooden peg tap down onto the floor as he lifted his mug, slurping the nostalgic malt. “I won, the last time I was on Kibo. Hope’s Carnival isn’t a death trap!”

“Maybe not, but it can turn into one rather quickly.” Banban peered into his mug, watching the froth along the edges. “Your partner, he’s your apprentice too, eh?”

“Not anymore.” Said the old chef. “He’s been out on his own a while now, gotten this far along the Grand Line. He’s as good as I was when my crew first stumbled onto this island.”

“Eh?” the older man fixed his friend with a beady eye, “and how many of ‘em made it out alive?”

Zeff chortled as he took another swallow of the warm ale. “It’s a test of individual will, Hope’s Carnival. We lost those who were not worthy, simply as that.”

“Still the ‘captain’.” His friend laughed, and he put his head back. “Still, can’t stop it now, you’ve signed up, and now this Sanji of yours will have to respond to the summons. It’s a neat little trap, those invitations. I remember when I first got one.”

“You lived.” Zeff pointed out.

“Aye, I lived. A lot didn’t. I don’t want to compete again for Hope or for anything else. Kibo… this island is something else.” he shook his head. “You warn him at all, about what could happen?”

“No point.” Draining the rest of his glass, Zeff wiped the sweet froth from his mustache. “I could talk to him for a year, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

**

“Come on, hurry up!” Sanji was already dressed, scarf wrapped around his face, gloves, thick socks, he had exchanged his regular dress shoes in favor of heavy boots (provided to him by the establishment). Chopper had on is usual shorts and hat, his fur the perfect all-winter-occasion attire. Even Nami and Robin were ready, looking lovely in long coats with fluffy fur collars. But Usopp was still nervously packing his bag, fingers fumbling with the catch and strap, he hadn’t gotten his boots tied, and one good gust was liable to whip his hat right off his head.

“Long-nose-kun.” Robin said softly, rescuing the sniper by helping him get everything sorted. Sanji had steam pouring out of his ears, cursing the fact that one of his mellorines had taken pity on him.

“It says we need to go to Square Door, near the East Dock,” Nami explained as they piled into the elevator. She had a map in her hand, pointing out a fairly large building that was flanked by three streets. “It’s pretty straight forward, shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty minutes to get there.”

“That’s where Sencho-san and Ken-san went as well?” Robin asked.

Sanji snorted. “Leave it to them to get so lost they couldn’t even make it back by morning.” The cook’s distain for their swordsman’s poor sense of direction was all too clear, but even he was wondering why Luffy had gotten lost. Luffy could be easily distracted, that was true, but he usually was able to make it back to camping locations easily enough. It was also pretty rare that he couldn’t manage to find their hotel in small towns or even big cities, and it was worrying him.

“Oh! Half a minute!” The blonde hotel employee ran around her counter as the five Strawhats were crossing the lobby for the door. “I though you should know, this is the day before the carnival, and the Royal delegations will be arriving throughout the day.”

“Royal delegations?” Nami asked.

The young woman nodded. “Most everyone arrives within two to five days before the carnival, pirates, merchants, and other spectators, but the Royal families usually announce their attending numbers, and save their arrival for the day before our carnival begins. It’s tradition. But it does mean that the sign up lines might be quiet long.” She bowed and smiled again, rushing back behind her desk, just as a small party came through the doors covered head to foot in snow.

**

Luffy stood in the hallway between his swordsman and the two Red Hair Pirates, the young captain shaking from head to foot, fists balled up into bloodless rubber balls. Zoro had his hand over his mouth, blood dribbling down his neck and between his lips.

“What did you do to my swordsman!” Luffy asked again, when neither Shanks nor Benn had answered him.

“Luffy.” Zoro gurgled. His free hand landing on Luffy’s shoulder. He stared at the tall, black haired man still holding his pistol by the muzzle, Zoro’s blood on the handle. “Shanks? He’s your captain?” he asked Benn.

“That’s right.”

“Same Shanks that gave Luffy his hat?”

“That’s right.”

Green eyes drifted back to the Red Hair Captain. Luffy still growling behind his first mate, but Zoro wasn’t angry, his face hurt, sure, but he wasn’t angry about it. Blood dripped down his front, and he bowed his head. Silently he straightened up, walking back down the hall to his and Luffy’s room, and disappearing inside.

Silence…

“Luffy –”

“Don’t!” the Strawhat Captain’s arm flung up to throw off Shanks’ hand. He glared at him, and Shanks understood. He understood all too well, that look. Luffy stomped after his swordsman, door snapping shut behind him, and they heard the lock thump.

Shanks’ eyes fell to the floor, his hand back on his face. Benn watched his captain, a sick hot knot in his stomach. “Sorry, Sencho.” He muttered.

“Don’t be.” The younger man chuckled, a hollow sound, and the first mate wasn’t comforted by it.

**

Yasopp tossed an empty bottle over the side of the ship. The Red Force’s sails tied up, rigging glittering under a layer of ice. The railing, the deck, all of it icy, and snow piled up in powdery drifts along the cabin walls. The Red Hair Pirate’s sniper pulled the cork from another bottle with gloved hands, his nose and cheeks more red from the booze than the cold.

“Shouldn’t drink like that.” Admonished Lucky Roo, setting himself down on the icy deck, striped coat pulled tight over his enormous gut. He peered at the frozen sky through his goggles.

“Capt’n does.” Yasopp said, tipping a swallow of hot rum down his throat before offering the bottle to Roo.

The fat man took it, a few swallows passing over his tongue before he handed the bottle back. “You sent him an invitation? Your son?”

“Aye.” The sniper's blond dreadlocks were encrusted with ice and snow, the parts of them that stuck out from under his hat. He was too drunk to care. “Least I can do.”

“He mightn’t have entered at all, and so it is the worst you could do.” Roo chuckled, crossing his arms over his massive chest.

This prompted a chuckle out of Yasopp, finally. “You think my son’s not worthy of Kibo?” he asked.

It was the fat man’s turn to laugh. “Aye! He’s got quite the disadvantage – your worthless blood running through him.”

The two nakama laughed, and drank, and laughed some more. Yasopp had been drinking ever since Benn had come back to the ship to report that he’d run into their sniper’s son in town. All the color had drained out of his face, he even forgot to keep polishing his new West Blue Blunderbuss, and he had worked so hard to attain the rare firearm… he hadn’t even smiled since. Lucky Roo was the only one who remained on the ship with the blond man, because they had been friends for so long. He wanted to look after him, because depression and frigid temperatures can do unpleasant things to a man. They had been on Kibo enough times to understand that.

 

### Tears

### ~~~~*~~~~

Luffy presses his bare back against the door, breath heaving in his chest. Sweat dripping from his face, and there was a cold ache in the pit of his stomach. He had been dead asleep when he had felt the sudden rush of something… something *wrong. That feeling he always got, whenever one of his nakama was in trouble. Really in trouble. Like a high pitched note that pealed inside his head before spreading like poison throughout his entire body. Opening his eyes to find Zoro gone, he had nearly ripped his pants pulling them on while simultaneously falling out of bed and reaching for the door handle. And then… Shanks… Luffy’s fingernails raked stinging hot lines into his scalp.

The metallic *snip of scissors brought the rubber man back from the whirling fog that still clung to half of his brain. The door to the bathroom was open, Zoro leaning over the sink. There was blood all over the older man’s right hand and down his chest. Even as Luffy watched, a blue-black welt spread further along the side of his first mate's jaw and up under his ear.

“It’s my own fault.” Zoro said, catching his captain looking at him by the reflection in the mirror. He put the needle and silk down before turning on the tap to rinse his hands. Pink swirls of blood mixing with water as it gurgled down the drain.

Luffy’s throat wouldn’t work, like he had gravel packed into his lungs. The swordsman tried not to look at his captain, taking his time scouring his skin. The whole right side of his face hurt like hell, and he was hoping that none of his teeth had been broken from slamming together like that… Sure as shit not going to ask Luffy to check.

“Wh..nn.” it was a weird noise, what escaped from Luffy’s lungs. His eyes hidden under the brim of his straw hat, one shivering hand dug into the woven fibers.

The green haired swordsman ran his tongue along his teeth, checking for damage, and there was none. He’d been lucky. Drying his hands and chest with a towel he went to his captain, wrapping both arms around him. The younger pirate buried his face in the crook of Zoro’s neck, the left side, where he would cause no further hurt to his nakama. Fingers wrapped up in his swordsman’s hamaraki. “Oi.” Zoro’s voice was low, barely a whisper, but it vibrated into Luffy’s body as they pressed their torsos together. “It was my fault, Sencho. Opening my big mouth, without thinking…”

“Wh—” Luffy gasped. “Why’d… hanh…”

“Oi.” Warmth and dampness trickled down Zoro’s shoulder, and Luffy’s whole body jerked, and kept jerking, his breathing irregular and sharp and wrong… “Luffy.”

“Why Shanks!” Luffy screamed, his voice elevated as it tore from his throat, and the older pirate almost *saw the tremors from it bounce off the walls, dimming the already weak light that came in from outside. His captain clung to him as his knees gave out, and they sank to the floor.

The First Mate of the Strawhat Pirates cradled his captain in his arms, treasured straw hat falling silently onto the carpet beside them. It squeezed inside Zoro's chest, the sound of the younger man dissolving; so much more painful than being shot or gored, or hit with the butt of a pistol. He could not take away whatever horrible thoughts were causing such rapid gasps and twisting muscle spasms. All he could do was embrace him, assure Luffy that he was there... and wait.

**

“Very good.” Monkey D Dragon placed the receiver of a Den Den Muchi down onto the snail’s red-striped shell. Digging fingers into the corners of his eyes. It was utterly silent in the room, save for the soft crackles of a low fire burning behind its grate across the room, and the man who sat across from him at the table – littered with maps and carts and photographs and letters… the man who sat stiff and tall, turning the thick pages of a book in his lap.

“Should be any time now.” The Shichibukai intoned softly. “I wonder... if they manage to understand their situation... what they will do?”

Dragon ran a hand through his dark hair, resting the palm against his tattooed forehead. “Fight.” He sighed. “Fight for honor and glory. Killing the future to protect a broken past.”

“You remain sentimental, even after all this time? Even as the world revers you as a wild beast set loose against all governed nations.” The other man chuckled dryly. “You will be remembered as a demon, Dragon.”

“Maybe, but I will be remembered, nonetheless. What will they call you, when you’re dead and gone, Mighty Tyrant: Bartholomew Kuma?”

The Warlord closed the bible that had been open on his crossed knee. “Who knows.” He sighed, a smiled playing quietly on his lips, same as Dragon.

The door opened on their quiet parlor room, and Sabo joined the two revolutionaries at the oval table where they had been pouring over the latest reports regarding some coup d'état in some dusty-dried-out country. “Any news yet, from Gilteo or Koala?” he asked.

“They move ahead,” Dragon told the boy. “It should be a short rebellion.”

Sabo nods. Short rebellions were good. Good for the people. Good for the revolutionary army. Good for the world. Short rebellions meant less bodies piled up, less tears, and far less orphans.

“Where have you been?” Kuma asked the younger man as he set his top hat down on the tabletop.

“Out.” He sighed, running both hands through kinky blond hair.

Dragon watched Sabo sigh, “Did you speak to him?” he asked, “Luffy.”

A snort. “Like I can just walk right up to him!” he hissed. “Hi, Luffy! How’s it going? Oh, by the way, I’m not really dead… Oh! and I’ve not said one word to you for ten years – but I’ve got enough free-time to come play games on Kibo!” he ground his teeth. “And Ace is here too, arrived in the night! I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this!” he shot at Dragon.

Kuma chortled. “Every Revolutionary soldier competes in Hope’s Carnival at some point.” He tells Sabo gently. “It’s about time you proved your worth.”

“I’ve proved my fucking WORTH!” roared the younger man. “A hundred-thousand times over!” he rounded his scared face towards Dragon. “Aren’t I just here because the Revolution needs a champion? Why the hell didn’t you talk Inazuma into coming?!”

“Inazuma is currently detained, his skills are needed elsewhere.” Dragon said gently, stacking the papers into folders.

“At Impel Down?” Sabo snarled. “You could have easily picked him up! Snuck his ass back in after the Carnival was over, and nobody’d be worse for it!”

Dragon stood from his chair, papers in hand. He walked away from the table to the other side of the room, and in front of the hearth. Warmth seeping into his tanned skin as the Revolutionary stared into those little dancing flames, deep brown eyes slipping out of focus for just a moment before he knelt. Allowing the licking orange tongues to alight the corners of the stacks of paper, he dropped them unceremoniously onto the burning logs. The papers curled, ink evaporating in hews of green rainbows amidst the surrounding heat. “It is unbecoming a man who represents the voice of revolt to complain about his duty.” He said, reaching for the iron poker that hung from its hook beside the hearth.

Sabo’s cheeks reddened.

“Do you wish to leave the ranks?” Dragon asked, his back towards the table as he poked at the fast burning documents, white embers dethatching from the whole to drift upwards.

“No.” The boy admitted, lowering his chin.

“Hope’s Carnival is an event of strength, will, worth, dedication, perseverance, resourcefulness… all things that a man freedom would have.” Dragon returned the poker to its hook. “For thousands of years, Kibo has existed, its people living, somehow always managing to thrive here in this city. It is the only place left in the world that has been thus uninterrupted by darkness.” The older man turned, his dark glare fixing upon the blond boy. “Do you know why?”

Sabo didn’t have to lift his head to know that both Dragon and Kuma were watching him. Their eyes hotter than the white coals blooming across the logs on the fire. He shook his head.

Dragon smiled, returning to his chair. He put a hand on Sabo’s arm, “Maybe someday you will.”

Kuma opened his bible again, shifting the place marker to the side as he read the comforting passages. He would not admit thoughts of the Contestant Battles, not yet. It would not do… Because it had never ‘done’ for him before.

**

Nami’s feet were freezing, though she had to admit that they were at least dry. It was no joke, the chill wind that came down out of the north, meeting with the low-pressure-zone that hugged sloped rooftops to form a bubble of frigid air that made them feel almost like they were trying to walk through something solid. Robin – taciturn, stoic, always steady, actually shivered! Her pale lower lip trembling as her teeth chattered together very slightly. Usopp had his arms wrapped around him so that he hugged his own shoulders, and Sanji’s face (the small portions of skin Nami could see between the scarf twined around his head) was red from icy windburn.

“Hahahaha!” Chopper’s hooves were steady on the frozen ground, leaving little prints in the snow as he rushed about, giggling and pointing into shop windows, wondering what Winter Island Cotton Candy tasted like.

“Stewed venison…” Muttered the freezing blond cook as his boots crunched in the snow several paces behind the reindeer.

Nami unfolded the map, with some difficulty as she was wearing mittens, and stared up and down the street. “There!” she said, pointing ahead.

There were many shop fronts along this stretch of road, where another two wide lanes dumped into a triangular courtyard. The largest of the buildings stood at the widest point of it. Walls of pale grey stone stretched up fourteen stories into the white misty sky. Navy blue pillars cornered the structure, as well as framed the many windows and the arched doorway, where a sloop of cobalt stonework collected three feet of white icy powder. Underneath this sloop was a set of thick glass doors. Inside, a warm and inviting yellow light danced, showing them many-many people milling around or standing in lines; and there were still more arriving from the side streets, all bundled up just like they were.

“Common!” Sanji grumbled, leading the way through the snow, eager to get inside where it was warm.

Once they had pushed their way inside the building, they found that the main floor was enormous. There were no walls to separate the space, and the structure was only held up by way of round pillars six feet across set strategically throughout. On the pillars were posters and lists of names, and between them were tables with lines of people behind them.

“Oi-oi! You can’t sign up for more than three Contests! Give someone else a chance!”

“You have to have a group of four for these events, no exceptions!”

“You really think you’ve got what it takes?!”

“Hope’s best!”

Sanji unwrapped his scarf, helping Robin over the threshold. The historian was hugging her elbows for the cold, staring about.

“Nami-san!”

Nami, having just removed her hat and gloves, Chopper and Usopp right behind her, peered into the crowd. “Vivi!” she cried, waving her arm high over her head.

Vivi hurried over. She was dressed all in white, with pale fur lining the fringes of her dress, hair pulled back with golden combs and diamonds festooned artfully across her blue plait. Her cheeks were red, just as theirs were, from the cold wind. Nami privately commended Vivi for being so cheerful, because after Alabasta, Kibo must seem like a frozen hell to her. “Did you get my invitation?” the princess asked, taking both the navigator’s hands in hers.

“I did.” Nami produced her letter from an inside pocket. “But how did you know I was here?”

“Igaram.” Vivi said brightly. “He arrived yesterday to see our rooms were ready, and when he saw the Going Merry he called us on his Den Den Mushi!” Vivi couldn’t stop smiling, her lips stretched from ear to ear. “I never thought we’d run into each other again so soon!” she cried, throwing her arms around Nami’s shoulders. The two girls squealed and hugged, drawing looks of amusement and more than a few raised eyebrows from those standing in line nearest them.

Sanji put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. His quiet smile all that he needed to enjoy the company of their once-ship-mate. Vivi in turn hugged Chopper, then Usopp, but as she turned to Sanji she noticed the woman standing beside him.

“Ms. All Sunday.” She breathed.

Nami’s smile cracked, but she didn’t let it fall completely. “Ah, eh…er.” She stammered.

Robin and Princess Nefertari Vivi looked at one another, and it was Robin who spoke first. “I can return to the hotel, if you –”

“She’s part of your crew now?” Vivi asked Sanji, because he was who she was facing.

The blond cook nodded carefully.

Vivi's eyes were wide and round. “Your nakama?” she asked, this time looking around at everyone – Chopper, Nami, Usopp, and everyone slowly, tremulously nodded.

“Vivi, so this is where you ran off to!” Sanji’s blood ran colder than even the temperature outside, and he choked on his cigarette. Vivi’s father, Nefertari Cobra, was striding towards them. He looked quite different than how they had met in Alabasta. He had on robes of purple silk, a gold belt studded with precious stones around his waist, long gold saber hanging from it. He had a crown on his head, also made of gold, beset with clear gems that glimmered even more brilliantly than the diamonds in his daughter’s hair.

The King came up to Vivi’s shoulder, “We mustn’t lose our place in line, or we’ll be here for days.” He chuckled, before his eyes came up to see the Strawhats, and Nico Robin, and he frowned. “You!” he pointed, and he looked around. “What is she doing here?” he asked Sanji and Nami, who were nearest.

Chopper cowered behind Usopp, who said nothing, just stood there watching as Nami chewed her lip. Sanji took another drag from his cigarette. Robin’s eyes were on the floor. “I –”

“She is part of Luffy’s crew now, papa!” Vivi giggled, all smiles and bright eyes back on her face. Sanji watched with a slightly numb sensation in his stomach as the blue haired princess stepped right up to Robin and threw her arms around her. The dark eyes on their nakama’s face were wide, but as Vivi clung to her, she eventually lowered them, placing both hands on the small of Vivi’s back.

The princess embraced Nico Robin for a moment longer, before stepping back to kiss Sanji on the cheek, which was enough to earn the blond cook a reproving scowl from her father the King. She then took Nami’s hand and rushed away with her through the thronging crowd.

The King shared a brief look with Nico Robin. “You are one of them?” he asked her.

She nodded, and it was only then that she realized that there were tears slowly beginning to tickle to corners of her eyes.

Nefertari Cobra stood before them in his robes of high office, a King of Royal lineage from the country of Alabasta. The sounds of the crowd so much alike to the constant sound of the sea around them, filling their ears so that they could admit nothing else. A tear broke free of the dark woman’s right eye, sliding down her cheek as she stood before him, tall, with her eyes up, but failing to convince him that she was unafraid. The King watched the small droplet drip from her chin to land in the fur lining of her coat. He stepped forward towards her, near enough that Sanji could see that his cheeks had been painted with gold, the images of a falcon on one side, a jackal on the other. His face, which had been like a blanket of bare sand, split into a soft smile, and he held out his hand.

Robin blinked, but after just a moment she lifted her own hand, and the King grasped her thin fingers. His left palm came up and pressed her skin, a warm, firm motion that forced a wet gasp from the woman. “I’m sorry.” She said. Tears falling freely now down both cheeks, her hand trembling between the King’s palms.

Sanji dropped his cigarette to the ground, snubbing it under the toe of his boot as Cobra smiled, assuring the dark woman that she had nothing to be sorry about. As his robes trailed behind him, disappearing into the noisy mob, Robin sank against Sanji’s chest. The cook held her close, Usopp’s hand on her shoulder, and Chopper hugging her knees, as she allowed herself to let go. There was too much activity around them for anyone to take notice of the four pirates huddled together by the doors. Sanji stoked Robin’s hair. He wondered then, how long she had held on to the horrible assignments she had been a part of before joining them… but, just as quickly as this curious thought crossed his mind, his fingers combing through thick black hair; he decided that such pasts are not nearly as important as the future ahead, and he didn't need to know.

 

### Tell Me

### ~~~~*~~~~

Square Door, the building where Sanji, Nami, Robin, Usopp, and Chopper were in, actually referred to its use during Hope’s Carnival. The structure was split into four separate sections: Revolutionaries, Pirates, Royals, and Citizens. Competitions varied wildly with each designation. Sanji stared at the posters as they walked by, making their way to the ‘Pirate’s’ designation. He had already seen Vivi with Nami on the Royal’s side, Cobra with them, as they talked together and Nami leaning over to add her name to a list.

“They’re organized, you’ve got to give ‘em that.” Sanji peered at a poster. ‘For the wind blows east under the moon, and Kibo grants passage only to those who cannot see.’ He read under a thickly penned title ‘East Under Challenge’. Most of the posters had something of a riddle on them. The ones that didn’t, instead detailed weapons to be used in a straight-forward fight of some kind. Sometimes there were requirements for teams or references or referrals to be handed in first.

“Oi!” Usopp waived his blond nakama over to where he stood next to a man wearing a black suit and bowtie. Long brown hair and red sash draped over one shoulder.

The man bowed. “Invitation contestants?” he asked, and Usopp and Sanji turned out their letters. The man took them, tongue between his teeth. He pointed towards a staircase that led upwards. “Ice Fish contestants are normally required to demonstrate their skill, please see the staff on the third floor.” He told Sanji before pointing off in another direction. “Sniper specific contests are all this way, please find the table under Contest of Targets.” He then bowed low and walked away from them.

Usopp and Chopper took off in the direction of the indicated for Sniper-specific challenges, while Robin accompanied Sanji upstairs.

“He is a great cook, your friend?” Robin asked Sanji as they climbed the stairs.

Sanji chuckled with a puff of yellow smoke snaking up around his ears. “Zeff the Red Leg. Ever heard of him?”

Robin shook her head.

“He was a famous pirate, a quarter century ago.” The cook told her. “Famous for not using his hands. His kicks could break boulders. Leave a footprint in iron. The blood of his enemies stained his leg red, and that’s how he got his name.”

The historian giggled. “I see. So it was he who taught you, your marvelous kicking skills?”

“Huh.” He shook his head. “He taught me a little, and I learned what I could from anyone who’d teach me. The Baratie was never short of fighters. What the old fart really taught me was how to use my hands.” Robin watched Sanji’s face, half hidden behind a sheet of blond hair, slacken. “That shitty old fart.” He said. “If the world had really been paying attention, they would never have noticed his leg.”

**

It felt like hours. Many hours. Days, even. Zoro’s fingers drew small calming circles on his captain’s skin, brushing gently over both shoulders and neck and down the sides of his arms. The slight places where his muscles bulged. The younger man had stopped jerking and twitching some time ago, all tears dried and his breathing finally returned to normal. The swordsman had managed to lift the rubber man from the ground, carrying him to the bed where they now sat together. But, though Luffy was quiet, he had not found it possible to let go of his first mate, and so his arms were still wrapped around him, almost desperately.

Zoro pressed his thumbs down into Luffy’s lower back. “Sencho.” He murmured.

“Mmm.” Luffy made a response, and his first mate was glad to get one at all.

“Is Shanks a swordsman?”

Luffy leaned back, at last untwining his arms from around the green haired man. “He –” It looked like the captain was thinking hard, thinking back to the times he had seen Shanks in Makino’s bar as a child. “He has a sword… Why?”

Zoro’s right cheek and jaw was a solid blue bruise, but he smiled, because the hurt was not that much. “That black haired guy –”

“Benn.” Luffy told his swordsman. “He’s Shanks’ first mate.”

The older pirate chuckled.

“What?” Luffy asked. “What’s funny?!”

Zoro passed a hand over his own face, and his captain saw his fingers pause to touch the single stitch at the crook between his chin and cheekbone. “That’s why…”

“Why what?” His captain demanded.

Zoro shook his head.

The older man reached forward, pushing the smaller man down into the pillows on the bed. “Listen, Luffy.” He said, and when Luffy eyes strayed to injuries instead of his eyes, he gave him a little shake. “I did this.” He growled, inches from red rubbery lips. “Me… not them.”

“Zoro’s –”

The green haired pirate gently enveloped his captain’s lips with his own, and Luffy felt two days of stubble on his face. His hands wrapping unconsciously upward toward the older man’s chest, and his right palm landed along the raised scar. Zoro’s palm came up, pressing on the back of that hand. “You think a little bump like this is really all that terrible?” he asked, lifting Luffy’s hand to suck and nibble at his rubbery fingers. “Please… Do you think so little of me?”

Luffy’s brown eyes were wide, pupils dilating as the wet muscular tongue of his first mate tickled his skin, probing between each finger to worry the sensitive junctures of each digit, slicking onto his palm to taste lingering remnants of salty fear that had dried there while he had jerked and shuddered in his arms.

“Do you think you need to protect me?” Zoro asks his captain, the edge of a cynical sneer on his lips as his teeth nipped and raked down the younger man’s wrist and up his arm. “When did that happen?”

Luffy writhed under Zoro’s heat, his body pressing down upon him, naked bellies meeting – the slide of which enough to grow the young captain, already betraying his agitation and believed-betrayal of the man he felt his very life was owed.

“Forget that moment.” His swordsman breathed into him, licking his captain’s lower lip, saliva warm and sweet like honey, like juicy meat! Strong fingers slid down, popping free the button that secured Luffy’s trousers, and tugging the fabric down. Soon his thighs were bare, hot under the slight touches of his lover. He squirmed, annoyed that the older man was prevented from touching him totally because he was forced to keep his legs together – as his pants were bunched up at his knee joints.

The man made of rubber let out a long sound, pitched with want and suffering, because he could not initiate the proper access he so desperately wanted; his head foggy from blood retreating into his belly and groin. His hands came up, fingers interlacing behind his first mate’s neck. Soft, green hairs falling over the backs of his hands.

“You have always wanted me to strip you… to have my way with you… haven’t you, Sen-cho?” Those words said in solid sobriety made his spine tingle, wet and real… so-so real… and yes, Luffy wanted that. How long had he wanted that? At the moment, the raven haired captain could not remember.

Teeth sunk into the crook of Luffy’s neck, just above his right collar bone. Luffy keened, the hot breath of his swordsman seeping through his skin so torrid and heavy and needed and wild. He wanted those rough-skinned hands that worried at his flesh. There was one on his cock, twisting with the slightest of touches that teased a droplet of slippery liquid from inside of him. Fingers taking great advantage to slip down the underside of his shaft, worrying at his tender base with tiny circles, and there were further touches on his sack, probing gently against him to send wonderfully sharp shocks racing into his abdomen. He wriggled, legs still bound up in his clothes. He wanted them gone! He wanted to spread his thighs, allow Zoro to touch him, to enter him and drive away the last vestiges of lingering duplicity.

But Zoro already knew that, and it was why he didn’t.

The green haired man released his bite, tonguing the stinging indentations left by his powerful teeth, the same teeth that could support the weight and stroke of his katana against enemies of greater strength than a charging bull. And Luffy knew that. He knew Zoro’s jaws could rip him open, just as a certain Mermen had done long ago. The thought excited him, the knowledge that he could be torn apart with such totality that his life would indeed be in danger. Oh! OH! OH!! He wanted that. He wanted danger! It made his lungs pump out more air, sounds of begging and pleading so unbecoming the great Pirate King he strove to one day become. He didn’t care. If he were to beg the man covering him, because it would remain between them – not necessarily a ‘secret’ because Luffy couldn’t, and never has understood the concept of a secret, but he did understand that he would share it with no one else.

Zoro licked down Luffy’s chest, worrying each swollen nipple in turn before dipping further to his belly – following the slight line of delicate fuzz that grew in a faint trail between his navel and the dark growth above his cock. Zoro grinned as he saw it, for the first time. A cock to match his own, if not just the slightest bit smaller. To know that THAT was what had been inside him a few hours ago… and he slurped at the flushed skin on his lover’s abdomen. “Let me have you?” he crooned softly into Luffy’s skin, and the sound of his hungry voice fluttered up and into Luffy’s ears. “Let me have my way with you?”

The younger man knew that Zoro was only saying this because he was his first mate. Because he knew that his captain’s orders were absolute. BECAUSE Luffy would always have the final say before he acted. Pride swelled under his ribs, threatening to explode outward from within him. He was crying again, but not with tears, with wordless peals of want, and Zoro could hear him, but he would not act. He would not give in with just that.

“Let me have you?” Zoro said again, and because he was able to speak with his mouth on his captain there was no reprieve from the shudders his tongue sent into Luffy’s gut.

“Zoro!” His captain panted, his hands tangled up in green hair. “Please…”

“Tell me.” The older pirate whispered, the tip of his tongue pressing oh-so-gently on the hot little slit at the end of his shaft.

Luffy tried to wriggle his knees, to push the fabric of his pants down so that he could spread himself, but his swordsman held it there. His trump card, to force the younger man to grant him full and undeniable permission, to *order him to take him. “Ahnnha.” Luffy gasped, “Please!”

The green haired man lifted his captain’s length forward, until the purpled appendage rested on Luffy’s stomach, smiling as he saw it twitch a little on its own. He licked up and down the swollen flesh of his young lover. “Tell me you want me.”

“I do!” the raven haired boy grasped. “I want Zoro! All of him! Ah! Ehheh! Now!”

With a wolfish look, hungry and eager and *ready, Zoro stripped his captain’s pants down and over his feet and positioning himself between them. He had never done this, but he didn’t imagine that it would be that difficult. He looked around. “Where’s that stuff you had last night, Sencho?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from bumping the young man out of the haze of desire that so racked his body. Luffy stretched one arm down towards the floor, snapping back with the bottle of hand lotion he had used to enter Zoro.

“Don’t worry about stretching me.” Luffy panted, removing the cap himself, “I’m rubber! So just… Hurry!”

 

### Traces of Haki

### ~~~~*~~~~

Portgus D Ace stared at the ceiling, reclined on the fluffy-soft bed that he and Marco had shared for the last two of Hope’s Carnivals, and would now do so for a third. Ace had been impressed by the First Division Commander’s room when he first saw it. Walls painted with textured blues and greens and whites, almost like the waves of the sea. There were no paintings in his room, instead decorations of hanging beads and ropes hung along the walls every four to five feet. Crown molding bejeweled with silvery gems, the surrounding carving made of gold. The ornate secretary desk and chair were both made of rare Adam wood, polished to a shimmer like glass, and stood next to a tall bay window and seat stacked with azure pillows, the door to the bath just across from that. Marco and Ace had very much enjoyed the fact that the bath was large enough for the both of them. Very much enjoyed.

“Have you spoken to the Old Man?” Marco asked as he pulled his sash up, fingers clicking over his many buckles and ties.

“Not yet.” Ace admitted, stretching his hand up over his face and alighting the tips of his fingers to watch the light dance there. “Is it just you and him this year?”

The Zoan ran his hands though the blond tuft atop his head. “Jozu came along to compete, and of course everyone is here, but not staying on the island. No one else felt like participating….” His voice trailed off.

Fist Fire Ace turned his hand over and over, and when he spoke it was a soft murmur. “How is the Fourth Division?”

A snapping, violent light radiated from the ceiling and down the walls, through the floor, rattling under their feet before continuing downward. Ace sat up. Haki! A ferocious Haki! And it felt… what was that… that vaguely familiar sensation in his guts that was almost painful? He shared a look with Marco, but the older man didn’t seem to know ‘who?’ either. Without a word the two men threw themselves from the room, making for the elevator; Ace impatiently jamming his thump into the indented call button. Marco was staring at the floor, thinking hard, concentrating on the many auras and prevailing existences around them. Almost the entire hotel, a thousand rooms, were full up – all with contestants for Hope’s Carnival. Trying to sort out just a few solitary Haki signatures was like trying to tell one swell from another in a stormy sea while the ship is sinking. Ace felt sure, however, that the reverberation that tore through their room had come from just one floor above them, the fourth floor. He jabbed at the button again, and the doors opened.

They hurried in, coming face to face with Dracule Mihawk.

The Shichibukai had his arms crossed, a sour expression on his bearded face. “What’s your rush?” he hissed as the doors slid closed. Ace holding down the button for the fourth floor, redirecting the elevator upwards, which annoyed the swordsman, as he was intending to go down towards the lobby.

“Did you not sense that Haki a few moments ago?” Marco shot at Hawkeye. “Or are you slowing down?” he smirked.

Mihawk glowered, pushing Ace out of the way to hold down the lobby switch, and the elevator trembled, switching gears downward. “Don’t be so cocky, old man.” He ground his teeth at Marco the Phoenix. Marco was a little over a decade older than Mihawk. “Of course I noticed that brat.”

“You know who it was?” Ace asked, “Who?”

“Monkey D Luffy.” The elevator passed the second floor, moving downward, and Dracule’s yellow eyes narrowed. “No restraint!” he spat.

But Ace wasn’t paying any attention now. He’d backed up against the wall of the elevator, a hand over his eyes. “Luffy?” he muttered.

“He and his first mate stayed here last night, though I don’t believe it is a permanent thing. The rest of their crew isn’t here, at any rate.” Dracule went on, watching the dial as the elevator shuttered and carried them down.

Marco was watching Ace. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

Ace hadn’t told Marco about his brothers, Luffy and Sabo… it hadn’t ever come up. Truthfully, if the rest of the Spade Pirates hadn’t joined the Whitebeard pirates themselves, splitting up into the different divisions, he wouldn’t have talked about them either. Ace had too many secrets inside him to allow reminiscences to escape his lips. He might let something slip… and he… he couldn’t do that. It had been bad enough when Whitebeard (and by extension, Marco, because he was Whitebeard’s first mate) had determined that Ace wouldn’t relax on their ship without telling them why he was so nervous. It had taken almost half a year before Ace confided in them that he was Gol D Rodger’s son. Both captain and first mate guarded this, the greatest of Ace’s secrets, and the source of his eternal shame. One deep mental scar among many, that the young Second Division Commander would rather leave unexamined.

The lift doors opened and Dracule swept himself out into the Lobby. The doors were not yet closed again when his pace paused, and he growled again before stalking forward. Ace and Marco had sensed why he had hesitated, anther brash vibration ripping down from above, and much more potent than the one before had been. It left a taste on the air, and the two commanders could almost see it drifting before their eyes. The doors slid closed and Ace’s trembling fingers pressed the fourth floor button.

The blond man watched his young nakama, eyes down, breath so much gasping in his throat. “Do you know him? The Strawhat captain?” he asked.

Ace’s steely grey eyes came up slowly, a guilty smile stretching his freckled cheeks. “Yea.” He said, nodding slightly. “Yea, I know him.” He fell backward against the wall with his arms up on the metal railing of the lift. “He’s my dumb-little-brother.”

**

Red Hair Shanks and his first mate, Benn Beckman stood in front of the closed lift doors as the dial hesitated around the third floor, and then down towards the lobby; Shanks pulling his mantle more securely over the stump of his left arm. The dark haired pirated exhaled yellow smoke out over their heads.

“Will he be alright, you think?” he asked Shanks, remembering Luffy as he had been, the last time he saw him. A young child laughing while perched upon a stool next to his captain, in that bar somewhere in East Blue.

“Why Shanks!” The wave of undisciplined Haki that as good as *flashed from behind Luffy and Zoro’s closed hotel room door caused pictures hanging in their frames to sway, tapping back down with a clatter against the wall. Tearing sobs followed, small screams of agony that stabbed into Shanks’ chest like hot knives. It hurt, hurt more than when Benn had cleaned and seared the stump on his arm after that sea king tore it off. His remaining right had reached instinctively for it, and he turned his face away from his first mate. Eyes itching, but he just swallowed hard.

Shanks looked up to watch as the dial above the lift doors indicated that the compartment was coming back up from the lobby. “He’ll be alright.” He whispered.

**

The wailing and sharp remnants of wild Haki only lasted a short time, and had stopped entirely before the lift reached the fourth floor and opened. Ace hurried out, almost colliding with Shanks. Marco took Ace’s hand.

“Yanko Shanks.” The Zoan said, slits of eyes sliding between the Red Hair Captain and his first mate.

“Marco.” The captain smiled, offering his hand, and Marco took it. “And Portgus D Ace!”

Ace hadn’t actually seen Shanks since he had gone to meet him, when Ace had still been captain of the Spade Pirates. Even at the previous two Carnivals on Kibo, they hadn’t managed to cross paths. He bowed his head politely. “It’s been a while.” He said, also bowing to Benn. “I’m sorry, but… I need to check on something.”

“Luffy?” Shanks guessed, because it was so obvious to him.

Marco’s eyes nearly closed as he narrowed them further. “How did you know that?” his dislike of the Red Hair Captain was buried too deeply in him. How many times had Roger and Whitebeard and their crews battled? Marco had more than once exchanged blows with Benn Beckman, though his Devil's Fruit had always allowed him to walk away unscathed. At least a handful of Benn's scars had been caused by the First Division Commander.

“He and Ace are brothers, after all.” Shanks sighed, stepping back to let the two men exit the elevator. “Tell him, eh?” He said as Ace hurried forward, Marco still clutching to the younger man’s hand. But Shanks’ mouth was dry, and he didn’t say anything.

“What?” Ace asked. He stared between the Captain and his first mate. “What happened up here?” he demanded, pulling his hand out of Marco’s grip to dig fingers into Shanks’ shirt. Benn made to speak, but met Marco’s wary face, and fell silent. Shanks made no effort to break the Logia’s grasp, but his tortured face spoke volumes to the younger man.

Marco’s hand came down on his nakama’s shoulder, and Ace let go of the Red Hair Captain. Shaking his head he turned away down the hallway, trying to guess which room Luffy would be in. He could have asked Benn or Shanks, but his stomach didn’t want to. Marco watched them enter the elevator without a word, and the lift doors tapped closed.

**

“Z-Z-Zoro! Ahann… Hurry!” Luffy allowed his knees to fall to his sides as Zoro leaned up against him for one last, slow kiss before he entered his captain. His swordsman’s belly on top of his own felt so delightful… Fingers tracing each other’s ribcages while warmth passed between them, and trapping the younger pirate’s swollen cock between their bodies.

*Thump*Thump*Thump* “Luffy?! Oi! Luffy?!”

Both sets of green and brown eyes opened, staring at each other as their kiss froze, each with the other man’s tongue motionless in their mouth; hearts fluttering, because both men knew who that voice belonged to. For one selfish moment Zoro thought about disregarding their interruption. He was millimeters from entering his captain, and Luffy’s body was so enticingly hot beneath him. Luffy shivered, and the older man watched the slow realization and agonizing dilemma behind those beautiful brown eyes.

There was further banging on the door, shouts for the younger brother to respond. Zoro sighed as he broke their kiss. He rolled over onto his back, reaching for his discarded trousers. Luffy sat up, shoulders shaking as he stared downward at himself. Red, engorged cock bobbing up at him, and he looked like he wanted to cry. Zoro did too. He wondered if it was true, what Yosaku used to tell him; that if you stayed hard too long without doing something about it your cock would turn blue and drop off.

Well. He was having that kind of a morning.

“Luffy?!”

“A-Aye!” Luffy choked, reaching for his own clothes that were wrinkled up at the end of the bed. He stared at Zoro as the older man buttoned his own pants, pushing his erection down with little success. Spotting his hamaraki he reached for it, slipping it down low to cover the bulge of his unmet need. “Zoro.”

“This is not over!” Zoro hissed at him, his voice was a low whisper, and Luffy could tell he was using every bit of his self-control to keep from screaming (or maybe curling up into a ball and cursing his very existence). “We’ll finish this later!”

*Bang*Bang* “Luffy!” Ace was beginning to sound angry now, and so the first mate pointed at Luffy’s trousers clutched in his hands, crossing to open the door as his captain slipped them on.

**

Yasopp stood against the wall amid the milling crowds that packed themselves into the ground floor of Square Door. He had borrowed a pair of Roo’s goggles, because he had none of his own that could cut out the white stabbing winter sunlight that aggravated his oh-so-spectacular hangover. Arms crossed over his chest as he watched the table where his son would have to go to answer the invitation. The Contest of Targets… It would not be the first time Yasopp of the Red Hair Pirates would compete in such an event, though it had not been offered every year. He was very curious to see what his son could do, because he had heard from Daddy the Father, the memory of that letter enough to even now grow a hot ball of pride in his guts. How his son had demonstrated his marksmanship in Loguetown with a simple slingshot, neatly paring a tiny gem on a weathervane at five hundred meters.

“Oya!” a man with yellow handled Kobachi knives sidled over to the Red Hair Pirate’s sniper. “Whatcha doing just standing around for, pops?”

Yasopp shifted his arms, but did not answer. His head was throbbing quite a lot.

“Cat gotcha tongue, eh?” the man’s shoulder jolted against Yasopp’s and he stumbled a little. “AHaha! Should get the hell out of Kibo if you can’t even stand, old man!”

The pirate laughed at Yasopp as he rubbed his shoulder, then his forehead. It was already too loud in the room for his liking, and the abrasive sound coming from the rookie scorched his blood. Standing back up he looked at the man, and in a moment of annoyance he directed a look that would shut him up. And it did. The pirate, mid laugh, suddenly fell silent, a dribble of spit appearing at the side of his mouth before he crumpled to the floor as if he had no bones in him.

Crossing his arms again, Yasopp leaned against the comfortably cold stone wall, returning his full attention to the table a few pillars away.

 

### Complications

### ~~~~*~~~~

Edward Newgate sat in his usual armchair, at his usual table. A bottle of sake uncorked and half empty, and shallow cup empty next to his right wrist. His room, his usual room, maintained just for him as a gift from Gold D Roger himself, so much a comfort for him. Of all the years he had fought Roger, of all the injuries they had done to one another – the man was his brother. Not blood, oh no, something so much MORE than that. His rival, his muse, his equal. The old pirate’s eyes drifted from reality, misting over as he remembered the black mustache and hearty laugh of the man that used to drink five-times as much as he ever could. ‘Edward!’ he had boomed, once upon a time, sitting in the chair opposite. His arms spread wide with exuberance. ‘There are oceans up in the sky! On the sea-floor! And All Blue! Have you ever seen it! We saw it! Reighley and me! The others wouldn’t believe us, but, damn! You should have been there!’

The old pirate smiled under his white crescent mustache. This will be his thirty-eighth year attending Hope’s Carnival. Thirty-eight years as a pirate who called the Grand Line: Home. His first contest was still clear in his mind, a simple one – a match of weaponless combat, against Him, Gol D Roger. He had won… that snowy day! The old pirate laughed. He had WON against that man, the first time, and the only time.

There was a soft knock on his door, and Dracule Mihawk eased it open.

“Grararara.” Whitebeard chortled, indicating the open chair for the Shichibukai to sit down.

Hawkeye sat, his teeth still gritting together. “Newgate.” He grimaced.

The older man poured a measure of sake for his guest. “You seem agitated.” He observed, grinning, his hand moving to fill his own cup with clear fiery spirits.

“I have been better.” Mihawk drank, his cup tapping back down onto the polished tabletop with a *click. “You seem very relaxed. The Carnival is tomorrow.”

“Yes, it is.” Whitebeard poured the other man more sake, placing the bottle down. “Kibo’s teeth with be sanded down by this year’s worthies, I’m sure. Which event have you entered?”

“I have not.” Mihawk gasped, plunking his cup back down. “I am merely a spectator.”

“Ahahagrara.” The old pirate’s crinkled eyes fixed on the Shichibukai. “We shall see!”

**

Shanks’ elbow bent, head tipping back a tiny shot glass. Even Benn had lost count of how many his captain had had. Four empty bottles already set on the table between them. The first mate had been conscious of his lover’s drinking problem for a while. He drank when he was happy, when they won a battle, when they found an especially fun island, when it was someone’s birthday, when they got a new crew member; hell… he even drank when he was bored. The dark haired pirate didn’t mind those times so much, because it would be a couple bottles, enough to flush the younger man’s cheeks, make his speech slur, make him horny, and that was fine. What Benn absolutely hated, however, were the times Shanks drank to escape. Drinking to forget his missing arm, or the death of a friend, or… like today… to try and ignore feelings, the feelings left behind from burning hot betrayal that they had both seen in Luffy’s eyes.

“Another!” Shanks shouted, slapping down a fifth empty bottle onto the table. The base cracked and little spidery fractures *tinked up the side and under the white label.

Benn sighed as the bartender came up, placing down another bottle and giving the first mate a stern look. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” The dark haired man snubbed out his cigarillo into a silver ashtray next to his elbow.

“ ‘s not a prob’em.” Shanks licked his lips; he was having problems simply sitting up straight. “ ‘ffy’s gonna be great th-t-this – nn – ya think?”

“Whatever you say, Sencho.” Benn watched his captain tip back another shot. It wouldn’t be long now. He could always tell. It had hardly taken half an hour for Shanks to polish off all those empty bottles in front of him… and now he wasn’t even using his glass. Glugging away at the bottle itself… and… yes… The first mate put a new cigarillo to his lips and lit the end of it as the redheaded captain put the now empty vessel down on the polished wood surface. His eyes crossing as he blinked rapidly and stupidly.

“Sh-sh-should’vehadnowonvond…” and his face fell onto the table, forehead smacking hard enough to rattle the empties.

“Guess we really won’t be going to the East Dock today.” Benn muttered.

Their waiter returned, eyes slackening when he saw the passed-out captain snoring wetly, his crimson hair fluttering on every exhale. “Would you like to use the room upstairs?” he asked Benn. This would not be the first time Kibo’s Owner would be so inebriated that he couldn’t walk out of the establishment on his own.

“No, thank you.” Benn sighed. “That won’t be necessary. I can manage.” The waiter bowed his head before rushing off to wait on other tables. The first mate put his elbow down, chin in his hand. “Can’t I, eh, Captain?”

**

Ace stared at Zoro’s sweaty flushed face wickedly bruised along the entire right side with a single fresh stitch still bleeding a little at his chin. Bare chest, neck and shoulder sporting fine red crescents of teeth marks. “Is Luffy in there?” he asked, already knowing the answer. The swordsman nodded, eyes tracking from the familiar man to Marco standing just behind.

“It’s not really a good time.” The green haired man muttered.

Ace frowned. “No kidding.” He said coldly. “What the hell happened up here?”

Zoro did not need to look behind him to know that Luffy was shivering where he sat on the bed, blankets pulled up over his lap to hide what must have been just as painful an erection as the one he hid (badly) under his own hamaraki. “Just a stupid misunderstanding.” He grunted. “It’s over now.”

“Hardly.” Marco growled. Ace glanced back at the First Division Commander. The blond haired man, maybe not as adept at using Haki as some others he knew, was still just as sensitive to the tell tail signs of it, and the palpable aftereffects that still hung on the air.

Ace pushed the door open, sidestepping Zoro to enter the room. “Luffy.” He said, standing just inside.

“A-Ace?” Luffy grimaced, fingers wadded up in the blankets covering him. “What are you doing here?”

The older pirate took in the long, uneven breaths of this younger brother, just as sweaty and disoriented as his first mate. “I’m here for Hope’s Carnival, naturally.” He told Luffy. “Aren’t you?”

Zoro made an audible sigh, allowing the door to swing open as he trekked back inside to sit down in one of the chairs that occupied a corner of their room. He put his face in his hands. Luffy watched his swordsman.

“Oi.” Marco closed the door. He put a hand on Ace’s shoulder, whispering in his ear. “Go easy on him.” The younger man shared a glance with the other, only the slightest manifestation of fire in the corner of his eye.

Sitting himself down on the bed beside his brother, Ace was very aware that Luffy’s attention was fixed upon his first mate. “Luffy.” He breathed, taking the younger man’s chin to direct his focus. “What happened?”

Luffy trembled from head to foot, lowering his eyes as he explained how Benn had struck his swordsman. It was not really a long explanation, but one Luffy had a hard time articulating. Luffy always had a hard time explaining situations, and Zoro made no effort to supply additional information. The swordsman had his fingers dug into his hair, fingernails raking his scalp until Marco saw a few trickles of red drip down passed his temples.

“And the Haki?” Ace asked Luffy.

The Strawhat captain blinked. “Haki?”

Ace swallowed hard. “You…” he stammered.

“That’s enough.” Marco warned.

“ 'the fuck are you two blabbering about?” Zoro growled.

Gears were turning in Marco’s head, screaming as they tried to piece together the connection between Ace and Luffy. If they were brothers, it would make sense that the younger man’s inherited Haki would come out, because Gol D Roger had it, and so did Ace. But that couldn’t be. Marco knew that Gol had been well dead before Luffy could have ever been born. What did that mean? Luffy had another relation on the island? Kibo’s magnetic field would bring it out of him if that were the case, weather Luffy wanted it to or not, that’s just the sort of thing that tended to happen to young rookies their first visit to Kibo. Just one more complication of Hope’s Carnival.

Marco tapped Ace’s shoulder and the younger man moved so that his nakama could sit next to his brother on the bed. Luffy jerked back, unsure of the new person to was reaching towards his face.

“Oi!” Zoro’s hand swung back against the wall, Sandai Kitetsu unsheathed before he had half realized it. Luffy kicked back, slamming himself against the wall with enough force to dizzy him, staring wide-eyed at the point where his first mate’s dark meito had pierced through the left temple of the man sitting a few feet away.

Ace crossed his arms, looking on. Marco’s face was half in flame, blue, feathery phoenix flame. The blond man’s eye, (the one that was not currently ringed with an indigo spectacle, changed into that belonging to the mythical creature of his Devil’s Fruit) fell onto the swordsman, his lips stretching by a lopsided grin. “Welcome to Kibo, Strawhat Pirates.” He leered.

**

Usopp leaned over the table to add his name to a roster next to his father’s signature. Chopper a few feet away, reading the poster entitled ‘Contest of Targets’. “A sniper who is a sniper can shoot, of course, but can they hit, that is the question. From backs or wheels or spinning seals. Beware the snares of other’s fields.” He squeaked. “What’s that mean?” he asked.

“Donno.” Usopp leaned back, green ink still drying on the paper as a man behind the table handed the young sniper a thick yellow ticket with a smile and a nod. “Guess I’ll find out.”

“Usopp.”

Chopper watched his long nosed nakama freeze in place, his usually tan face going the color of grayish porridge, and the ticket between his thumb and forefinger creasing under his grip. There was a man standing behind him, slightly taller, with a shorter nose, but all other features remarkably similar. The reindeer giggled, retreating away into the crowd as his crewmate slowly turned. He didn’t hear what was said between them, but the two men embraced each other, and it left Chopper with a warm feeling as he wended his way between other tables and legs and pillars.

“Oia!”

Chopper turned at the familiar voice in the din, to see the polar bear he met in the bookshop walking towards him from between different sets of shoulders.

“Hi!” he calls back, waving his hoof. “Are you entering a contest?” he asks.

“No, I lost track of my captain.” Bepo tells Chopper, aggravated scratching on the back of his fuzzy head. “Have you seen a man with a sword and a black and white hat go by here?”

Chopper shakes his head.

“Well, if you see –”

A wobbling vibration closes at Zoan’s back, and he’s suddenly aware of a strange smell on the air.

“Shambles.”

There’s a pull in Chopper’s guts, like a hook in him, and while it’s not a ‘painful’ sensation, he would hardly describe it as comfortable. All the sudden he and Bepo are standing side by side on the stone floor in a completely different corner of Square Door face to face with a pale, skinny pirate with dark circles under both eyes. He looks sickly to the doctor, emaciated and extremely tired as he sits on the floor with his back against the wall. Bepo walks towards his captain, reaching to help him stand, but he waves his navigator off.

“You are the Strawhat’s doctor, right?” he asks Chopper.

The little reindeer is still peering at the man with anything but trepidation, a mild to growing concern. “I am.” He says. “Who’re you?”

“Trafalgar Law.” Says the man. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

 

### Com'on!

### ~~~~*~~~~

Sabo walked sourly behind the two older officers of the Revolutionary army, Dragon and Kuma. Their considerable shadows neatly obscuring him. His face itched, right at the base of that scar he’d gotten years ago in an explosion that had nearly cost him his life. The thing shouldn’t STILL be hurting him! He grumbled, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his cheek. Fucking thing!

The young man recognized an awful lot of faces all packed into Square Door. The rookie, Basil Hawkins, in his gaudy tan coat that swept the floor, Penguin and Shachi arguing in a corner – those two should have higher bounties than they have, of course their captain was careful… Jozu, Third Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, the big man’s head tipped back with laughter, Lucky Roo (the five-hundred-million beli head) – only slightly smaller, but shaped almost the same way, laughing right along with him. Django, former pirate turned Marine, and his commanding officer Hina. Hina the lock-up woman famous for having made more enemy captures than career officers with five times the years of experience… Oh yea… Sabo’s shoulders sagged at the reminder. Royals and Marines always arrived at the same time. There would be a lot of them… probably…

“Dragon.” Sabo was ripped from his private thoughts as a low, slightly rasping voice addressed the man standing directly in front of him.

“White Hunter, Smoker.” The revolutionary leader replied, offering his hand. Civil exchanges… Sabo shook his head in mild disbelief, a vein starting to tick in his good cheek. It was unnerving to see deadly enemies being so damn *nice to each other.

“Here breaking in another one, eh?” The Marine chuckled, two thick cigars dangling from his lips. The grey eyes under a shock of silvery hair landed on Sabo, and he shifted, tipping down the brim of his top hat. “They get younger every year.”

“Sabo is not a new soldier.” Dragon advises his friend, a half-smile playing across his tattooed face. “He will have no trouble.”

The other man guffawed, “If you say so!” he said, and a woman came running through the crowd.

“Smoker-san!” she panted. Sabo could see a meito at her hip, deeply green sash tied about her waist. Short-cropped black hair and a set of thick glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. “Were you aware that that the Strawhat Pirates are here, on this island?” She demanded of her commanding officer.

“Calm down, Tashigi.” Smoker growled, Dragon smirking at the subordinate’s agitation.

“But, Captain –!”

“Captain?” Dragon sputtered, “Have you been demoted *again?!”

Smoker’s eyes twitched. “Somewhat.” He muttered, one canine piercing the wrapping of his cigars.

“Conduct unbecoming an officer.” Kuma supplies on Dragon’s other side. “After the incident involving the Strawhat Pirates, resulting in the detainment of the former Shichibukai Crocodile.”

“Eh?” Dragon wipes a mirthful tear from the side of his face before fixing the grey-haired man with an *almost serious look, jabbing one finger into his chest. “And what did you do this time?”

Smoker inhaled heavily on his pair of cigars. “I told them to eat shit.” He muttered. Dragon’s peals of laughter actually draw some attention, but not much. People around them have a lot to do. The Marine Captain’s temple goes with a series of nervous ticks as his subordinate clutches her meito. “They wanted to cover up what really happened there!” he snapped, fist landing on the side of a pillar near them. “That it was really that Mugiwara captain that took down Crocodile!”

This shut Dragon right up, and earns him more than a few confused glances – though not from Tashigi. The young female Marine has much more important things to occupy her attention.

“Smoker-san! If the Strawhats are here, that means Roronoa Zoro is here!”

**

Zoro’s getting mightily pissed off that there are so many bloody people on this frozen-hell-hole that are so damn much more stronger than he is. But there is nothing much he can do about it, except to pull his cursed meito from that grinning blue-flame-framed face and slink back against the far wall while his captain peels himself off the headboard.

Marco the Phoenix’s face gradually reverts back to his human appearance, and the sly smile slides from his lips to be replaced with knowing sympathy. “You are both new to Kibo,” the Mythical Zoan says gently, standing up from the bed to Ace’s side with his back to Luffy. “And I’ll wager a great deal, that you didn’t come here with the intention to compete.”

Luffy’s knees sink into the mattress, and his older brother watches him grip tight handfuls of pillows, bloodless rubber knuckles trembling.

“It will be hard.” Ace says suddenly, causing Luffy to look up sharply. “Painful, sometimes… But – Oi?” That freckled face split into a wide and familiar smile that the raven haired Strawhat captain cannot help but to return twice over. “You’re strong, eh?”

The swordsman still has Kitetsu unsheathed in his right hand, but the dark glower that had settled on his eyes lifts at the sight of his captain. He melts… and this time the sensation does not disturb him. Instead, the green haired first mate hugs into it, taking an aggressive pride in the truth behind the Logia’s words. Yes. Luffy is strong, and there is nothing at all to fear.

**

Ace tells Luffy and Zoro how to get to Square Door, only three short blocks from the hotel, and once Luffy has assured his older brother that he is absolutely positive they can get there, he leaves them – gaining the peace of the hallway with his older crewmate by his side. It’s quiet in the passageway, as most everyone would be out in the city streets, preparations to make, last minute Battles to sign up for, and Royals arriving. They should hurry too, or it would be too late and all the good contests….

Two hands with thick, feathery fingertips, trail up and under Ace’s shirt. The Phoenix’s touch on his musculature soft and cool and… missed. The younger commander leans his back against the firm, friendly torso of the man behind him, allowing the slow slide of the other man to cradle his body. His fire pooling with earnest desire in the pit of his stomach.

“Marco.”

“Shhh.” The older man croons, before a sharp nip traps the Logia’s right earlobe. The doors to the lift slip open with a faint mechanical noise, and Marco pushes his young lover inside, one hand groping at the button panel, and Ace doesn't need to ask him where they're going as the floor shutters and carries them upwards. “You wanted something, didn’t you?” he whispers, one hand drifting up to tweak the other’s left nipple, already hot and taut.

The breath that escapes the young Logia is heavy and sharp, but the effort he makes to wriggle free from the older pirate is feeble, and Marco knows it is not really meant. “But…”

“But what?” Ace is forced to grab hold of the lift’s railing so that he is not rammed into the wall. “Are you worried about him? Your brother?”

A nod – and it exposes the soft pale flesh of his neck, a handful of freckles just visible around the string of pearly red globes he wears. The phoenix licks his lips, burying his nose in the soft fluffy hair at the nape of the younger man’s neck.

“Don’t be.” The First Division Commander’s free hand cups and squeezes one muscular buttock just above the thigh, forceful enough to lift Ace off the floor for just a moment, teeth sinking into that delicious sweating flesh just inside his collar.

**

“A favor?” Chopper squeaks, his eyes roaming over the man in front of him, Trafalgar Law. He had observed a great deal of suffering since he had left Dr. Kureha on Drum Island, mostly because of the Strawhat Swordsman – the man suffering not only grievous physical wounds requiring stitches and copious amounts of bandaging, but who demonstrated to the young doctor a series of psychological traumas. He had actually seen Zoro sick twice, but had failed both times to convince his green haired nakama to accept it. The look on Bepo’s face, Chopper thinks, is a lot like the one he himself – Nami and Usopp too – use when they’re trying to get Zoro to rest.

Law’s eyes, half-lidded, slightly bloodshot, keep slipping in and out of focus. “Doctor?” he mumbles. “You… y- think –”

Chopper isn’t all that surprised when those eyes slip back and close, head thudding back against the wall as Trafalgar’s entire body collapses.

“Sencho.” Bepo breathes.

“How long has he been like this?” Chopper asks, walking up beside the white bear, who’s still hovering over his captain as if unsure if he should attempt to move him.

“Only today.” He said.

The reindeer watches the shallow breaths push in and out of Law, wondering vaguely what could be wrong with him. Coming to Bepo’s side he transformed to Heavy Point, pressing at Law’s wrist to gage his pulse, but it’s steadily getting noisier and noisier in the room. A fight has broken out somewhere, tables being up-ended, clipboards and pens go skittering across the stone floor or through the air like misguided projectiles. Chopper barely registers the commotion, in fact, it feels marginally more ‘normal’ for him all of the sudden.

**

Mihawk had been staring unseeingly out of the expansive window in Newgate’s room for some time. He had always been able to relax in the presence of the old pirate, even if he didn’t consider Whitebeard as ‘trusted’ as he might some of his other acquaintances, because that’s all Mihawk had (or wanted) acquaintances. One sharp–toes boot twitched without any reason, and he sighed.

“Magnetics bothering you again, Hawkeye?” Rumbled whitebeard, his massive hand pouring out yet more sake for the two of them.

“It is unimportant.” But the Shichibukai’s hand trembled ever-so-slightly as he lifted his cup to his lips, the burning alcohol making its way into his guts. “They don’t seem to effect you anymore?”

“Grarara. It’s been almost four decades,” he held his hands out in front of him, the hands which controlled the most powerful devil’s fruit in the world – or so everyone said. The Tremor-Tremor Fruit. Gura-Gura no Mi. The hew of old captain’s eyes, which Mihawk watches closely, traverse between hazel-gold to deep brown. Dracule had seen this many times since he had known Whitebeard, that his eyes would change colors depending on the depth of his memory, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of some strange side-effect from his devil’s fruit, or if he were simply born that way. “Kibo and I made peace, long ago.”

A knock on the door startles both men, though each hides it well, and a woman enters. She stands shorter than Mihawk, but with grey hair and wrinkled face to match the aged captain. At the look of him she smiles.

“It’s been a while, Edward.”

The mouth beneath that white mustache falls open, the corners of his lips driven upwards as the woman approaches the table, pulling out a chair between the two men. Hawkeye smirks to himself. Rumors of these two have been spread like wildfire over the course of twenty years. Roger was largely to blame.

“Tsuru. It is good to see you.”

The aged woman giggles like a child, taking the hand of the captain. “I couldn’t stay away another year, from Hope’s Carnival.”

**

Zoro secures his three swords to his hip, fingers slipping over each sash-tie as he concentrates on the task, determined to not meet his captain’s eyes. Luffy, after haltingly suggesting that they go to Square Door, hadn’t said anything about what he and his first mate had done the night before. The lingering effect of their first time still hot on his skin. However, the threat of further interruption belays any such thoughts of beginning again, just then.

“Zoro.” Luffy says, his back to his swordsman as he settles his straw hat on his head, fingers pressing into the comforting weave.

Zoro shivers at the sound of the younger man’s voice. “Aye?”

“Are we…” Luffy’s shoulders hitch under his heavy coat. “Does Zoro…?” He shakes himself violently, toes to fingertips. Turning about he wraps enthusiastic arms around his green haired nakama and applies a smiling kiss on the older man’s lips. “Com'on!”

Taking Zoro’s hand, the older pirate slightly cross eyed, the young captain bounds out of the room, dragging his swordsman behind him. They’d talk later. Luffy decides, lips stretched wide in an ear to ear smile. Yes. Later! Later they’d have time… time to… Zoro licks his captain’s taste from his lips as Luffy laughs, laughs because he can, because he should, because what his mind is showing him is something he just can’t contain.


	3. Vitality

### Square Door Closes

### ~~~~*~~~~

“Smoker-san!” both Tashigi’s gloved hands gripped her meito, scabbard trembling with faint metallic sounds that suggested the proud blade inside fitted to be released just as much as its master wished to draw it.

“That’s enough, Tashigi!” Smoker rounded on his subordinate. Standing nearly a foot taller than the young woman, the Marine Captain looked down upon her, and she gazed back with a bearing of such defiance that he was reminded why he had chosen her as his second in command.

The dark haired woman glared at her superior through her thick glasses, eyebrows drawn together. “There are so many bounty heads here, in this very room!” she hissed. “Criminals and brutes! Why did we come here, if not to exhibit justice?!”

“This is no place for ‘Justice’.” Smoker breathed. “This is a battleground, nothing more.”

“The citizens…”

“The citizens?!” the captain barked, lips twisting around the shafts of his cigars. “Hope’s people have no use for Marines or Pirates or any other type man or woman that walks this earth or sails its seas.”

“Only the Yonko who rules them?” Tashigi’s shrill voice echoed off the stone floor and walls, but as soon as it fell into the bustling sounds of the crowd around them it died with meaninglessness.

“Shanks…” Smoker sneered, exhaling a measure of fine thick smoke. “…is no ‘ruler’ of Kibo.”

But the woman was not convinced by her commanding officer’s words, and shook with anger and confusion, but also excitement – it was something she could not hope to hide from someone who had known her for so long. A man she had lived with in such close quarters ever since they entered the Grand Line together, both intent on capturing members of the same elusive crew. Her gait gave her away, the beads of sweat just visible on her face, and her eyes! Those were truly the eyes that sought battle… a factual battle; one that would take her life – or provide her with the opportunity to take one.

“You really want to face that Pirate Hunter so badly?” Smoker asked, leaning in so that his lips were mere millimeters from the young woman’s ear. “Here on Kibo, at Hope’s Carnival?”

“I do!” she hissed.

He chuckled. “Be patient. Kibo has a knack for throwing worthy opponents together.”

**

The elevator doors slipped closed, but not before its passengers tumbled out onto the hotel roof. Ace’s shoulders, wreathed in dazzling orange flame, sizzled like a hot frying pan doused under a tap as he made contact with the snow beneath him. Marco’s hands on the younger pirate’s chest, tracking up and down exposed flesh as chill wind blew over and between them. Neither cared that it was freezing up here, they had never cared. It had been their first year together at Hope’s Carnival when Marco had discovered that Ace was best touched while on fire, and better still panting underneath him while dripping in warm water, to which the snow was essential. Ice and snow and cold meant nothing to the Logia, or to the Zoan, whose regenerative abilities would never allow his skin to succumb to frost bite.

“Marco.” Ace grunted, his lover’s fingers already working the fabric of his pants down, set of teeth on his neck and shoulder. “Wait…I…”

“No.” the older man hissed. His tongue edged with blue flame that enticed Ace’s fire to go on building. He tore at the offending fabric that existed between him and his lover. “No more waiting!”

The First Division Commander flung Ace’s trousers away, one hand working firmly between his thighs, cupping and rolling the younger man until he writhed and gasped, small gouts of fire escaping from his throat, far outside his control. Marco enjoyed that, driving Ace to this wild place, when usually the he kept himself so well-ordered and level-headed. He had been the first and only man to do it, and he enjoyed that fact too.

“Burn for me.” The Zoan demanded of his lover, breathing into the younger man’s freckled skin, halfway covered in the flickering azure feather-flames of his Phoenix form.

Ace’s fingers alighted as they raked the older man’s back, allowed to draw tiny droplets of blood from the Zoan’s human skin, only for a moment, before indigo feathers lit and absorbed the damage as if nothing had happened. It was only the slight huffs, and constriction of eyebrows on Marco’s face that convinced him that his touch had been so very-much received.

The Logia wrapped his legs around the older pirate, releasing flame from his every surface as the Phoenix took full form, long slender beak of pale gold resting on his embered shoulder. Ace stroked Marco’s birdish head, nuzzling into cerulean flames that were entirely different from his own. Both massive wings encircled the younger pirate, cradling him and blocking the wind as a hand would around a tiny candle, encouraging the other to burn – burn free and wild and hot – and Ace obliged. Pushing upwards into Marco’s wings, Ace drew fiery circles with his fingers and palms, watching the deeply ringed eyes of his lover nearly close as he crooned in his animal’s voice that the other found so much joy in hearing. It was like a song-bird’s, but different from an eagle or a starling or a Southbird. The sound of the Phoenix singing was a peal of light air charmed by a gentle breeze, echoing through his body like swells on the sea – ethereal, and haunting, and Ace shivered to hear it.

**

“What’s that noise?” Zoro asked, pulling the scarf away from his left ear long enough to realize that his earrings froze almost instantly and painfully where they hung from his lobe.

Luffy’s boots crunched in the snow, he hadn’t heard a thing as they made their way across the courtyard and down a wide lane. Square Door, the huge building of stone and blue-brick trim, stood on the other side of the street. Luffy swallowed, eyeing his swordsman.

“What?” Zoro asked, crossing his arms for the cold.

The younger man didn’t want to say, didn’t want to even think about it, but… Zoro hadn’t exactly had much luck on Kibo since they arrived, he had only been involved in three skirmishes – however miniscule, and he had been enormously outclassed in every one of them. To sign up for a contest, against an opponent that is ready to take him on. It worried him. Why did it worry him? His swordsman was strong! W-wasn’t he?

“What… Luffy?!” Zoro demanded a second time, as his captain stood there staring at him like a goddamn statue in the middle of the frozen, snow covered street.

“Ah? N-nothing…” Luffy lied, shaking his head violently before hurrying up a set of wide steps towards the warm glow of light streaming through glass double doors. Zoro knew his captain was lying, because anyone could tell when that innocent rubbery face was lying, but he honestly didn’t care right now. Too fucking cold!

Once inside the two shipmates removed their coats, suddenly too warm, and tried to make sense of the place. It was huge! Stuffed full of people, all kinds of people… some dressed up like Kings and Queens, some who were obviously Pirates or Bandits. People in suits and ties with different colored sashes draped over their chests, there were even Marines?! Zoro’s fingers twitched over his katana as a tall man wearing a tell-tale white mantle bearing seagulls wings wafted right in front of him.

“You sure this is the place?” Zoro growled as his eyes tracked into every open space he could see without actually moving his head.

Luffy looked around. There were a lot of people here…. There was that huge guy he’d met in the bar, that Monkey D Dragon. Standing next to him was another huge guy that looked like a bear, a tiny man in a top hat next to him. Dragon was patting the young man on the back, laughing, as the other appeared to be signing something.

“Monkey D Luffy.” Captain Smoker smiled. He had just turned from where he had been kneeling to add his name to a long list at one of the tables. “And Roronoa Zoro.”

For one wild moment Zoro was convinced that the marine would draw his Kairoseki-tipped jute to pin his captain to the nearby wall. Twice this man had nearly taken his captain’s head, and there was nothing stopping him from making another attempt now. The swordsman tensed, and Yubashiri was halfway drawn, but instead of an attack, the silver-haired man extended his gloved hand. Luffy had stiffened from head to foot, staring at the fingers in front of his face. After a few moments he took it.

“Smokey.” Luffy grinned. “Are you a contestant here too?” he asked.

Smoker sighed, but otherwise didn’t mention his aggravation at the young pirate’s use of such an undignified nick-name. “Yes. Myself and my subordinate, we are both here for Hope’s Carnival.”

“Your subordinate?” Zoro asked, tapping his katana back into his sheath.

Smoker grinned. “Yea, you know her – Tashigi.”

All the color drained out of Zoro’s face. S-she was there?! Why the hell couldn’t he get rid of that woman?!

“Tashigi?” Luffy asked, looking between them.

“We fought in Loguetown.” Breathed the first mate. “We already had our duel.”

“She doesn’t seem to feel the same.” The marine told him, trading out one of his spent cigars for a fresh one and lighting it with a match. He drew a few puffs casually before addressing the Strawhat captain. “Hope’s Carnival is somewhat protected by the… er… unusual situation on Kibo. So we will not make an attempt to take your head here, Mugiwara.”

“That’s kind of you.” Luffy said, oddly formal, in Zoro’s opinion.

“Isn’t it.” Smoker chuckled to himself as he turned, waving his hand as he disappeared between the many shoulders and thickly coated backs of the crowd.

**

“So she… she died? A year after I… I left?”

“Aye. Maybe a little less than a year.”

“And… after that?”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“You had someone?”

“No.”

“So you…”

“I made do, with what I had.”

A half-gallon bottle of imported West Blue whiskey, strongest there is, passed between the two pirates as they leaned up against the cold partition outside one of the many pubs on that street. Strings of bright lights above their heads made them look shadowy because of the reflected orange off the snow. Usopp and his father had walked a long way from Square Door, having no reason to hang around – not now that they were both signed up for their contest as partners. Yasopp hadn’t said much, only questioned his son of his life, paying enormous attention to every small detail. He had not known that his wife had died, and the realization that his son had lived alone tore at his guts more strongly than he would have ever believed possible.

Usopp took a long drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his coat sleeve. “When Luffy showed up on the beach one day, he said he had met you.” He smiled. “Said you talked about me all the time, and that’s how he knew I was your son.”

Hot shame swirled around in Yasopp’s stomach as he took the bottle and tipped a generous amount down his throat. “I’m surprised that kid remembers.” He mused. “The way he kept going on and on about being the Pirate King – but I guess he really was listening to everything we said.”

“He does.” Usopp laughed, watching the snow fall. “He definitely knows what’s up! He will be the Pirate King someday!”

The pride in his son’s voice shook at Yasopp’s already thin nerves, and he drank again. “Do you hate me?” he asked after an agonizing swallow. “For running out on you… and your mom. For telling stories to some kid who wasn’t mine, when I shoulda been telling them to you?”

Snowflakes were swirling down from above, in that quiet way they do when there is no wind. One or two settling on Usopp’s nose, a few more on his coat sleeve. He did not need to look at his father to know the man was positively quivering with effort to keep from bursting out in tears. That knowledge did not change his opinion of him in the least. “I’m proud of you.” Said the younger man.

Yasopp eyes jerked open, facing his son, but Usopp was still calmly watching the snowflakes fall. There was a smile on his face, the end of his nose only the tiniest bit red from the cold and the booze; both arms crossed as he leaned casually forward on the rail. “You’re–”

“Proud of you.” Usopp repeated. “Of the man who follows his dreams, who lives free – as a brave warrior of the sea.” His hand reached out for the bottle held limply in his father’s hand. Glugging back several mouthfuls as only a true sailor can. He turned to his father with a fierce face, his greatest imitation of what he imagined Luffy might look like. “And someday.” He announced. “I’ll be just like you.”

**

Sanji walked down the stairs, Robin’s delicate hand held softly in his own as he escorted her. Robin giggled at the gesture, seeming more than happy to take advantage of his kindness, since Nami was not around to scoff at it.

“Ah,” she said, peering down across the masses of people. “It seems our captain and swordsman have arrived at last.”

Sanji looked, and spotted them near the back wall, both leaning over a table with red cloth draped behind it. Keeping Zoro’s green hair in his line-of-sight, he and Robin made a bee-line for them, though admittedly it took them a while to get there because of all the congestion.

“Oi! You shitty assholes!”

Zoro and Luffy jumped apart, and the swordsman appeared quite red to Robin, as they approached. She raised a quizzical eyebrow to him, but he averted his eyes. Sanji, however, did not seem to have noticed anything strange.

“You had Nami-swan worried sick!” he was shouting at his captain, shaking him by the lapels.

“Where is Nami?” Luffy managed to choke out when the cook stopped trying to rattle his brain loose. “And Chopper and Usopp?”

“Nami is on the Royal’s side with Vivi.” Robin told Luffy, “Usopp and Chopper, I’m not sure.”

“Vivi?” Zoro tilted his head.

“Yea.” Sanji released Luffy’s coat and lit a cigarette. “Seems Royalty comes in for Hope’s Carnival too, Cobra and Vivi are both here for it – asked Nami to participate in some Challenge for them.” The blond cook let out a long breath of smoke before his eyes refocused on the Strawhat swordsman. “What the hell happened to you?” he demanded, gesturing accusingly at the enormous black-and-blue bruise that covered the entirety of the right side of his face.

Zoro ignored the cook, staring down at his own hand. He and Luffy were both holding blue tickets.

Sanji shook his head, knowing he wasn’t going to get an answer out of the standing moss. Quickly he redirected his attention, pointing with his extinguished match. “Yours are blue, eh?” reaching into his pocket he brought out an orange slip of paper. “I’m in a cooking challenge with the old fart!” he announced proudly, earning himself a smile from his beautiful Robin-chwan.

“It was most impressive, the preliminaries.” The archeologist explained as she beamed, but she was unable to go into details.

There was a massive sound from somewhere, a hammer on metal, like a gong, and it bought all talking and other foot noise to an abrupt and slick halt. The lights around the perimeter of the room were dimmed a little, so that the brightest directed attention towards the center where a stage had been erected, flanked by nine wide pillars. The people Zoro had seen wearing suits and ties and colorful sashes were now standing in a wide circle before the raised platform. On that platform, stood the Owner of Kibo Island, Shanks – or rather, Shanks was being held up by his first mate… another man in a suit had a Den Den Mushi in one hand, a long ledger in another. “Welcome!” he announced, and his magnified voice reached into every corner of the room. Luffy could see Nami and Vivi standing opposite them, and Chopper next to a white bear holding a skinny guy with a sword.

“Welcome!” The man with the Den Den said again. “It is now time to close all signups for Contestant Battles. Night will fall soon, and it is suggested that everyone enjoy a night of rest and relaxation before festivities begin!” There was cheering and hollers, cat calls and whistles. Zoro held his breath, Luffy watching the dais closely as he stood at his swordsman’s shoulder.

“Newcomers to Hope’s Carnival, please take note of the color of your ticket! It denotes the Zone where your particular Battle or Contest will take place. All contestants are free to wander the grounds, of course, but do not be late for your own event!” he chuckled. “Kibo does not appreciate tardiness!” there was a great deal of laughter all around after this statement, but Sanji noted more than a few who turned mystified expressions towards one another.

“This will surely be a year to remember, as was the year before, and all the years to come! So for tonight–” The man holding the Den Den suddenly stopped speaking, and it was clear why. Shanks had put out his one hand to the man’s shoulder, his unsteady gait evident as Benn Beckman held his captain up by his mantle. The man in the suit nodded before handing over the little sail, and the Red Hair Captain brought it up towards his lips.

Luffy’s teeth were grinding together; Zoro could hear it even over the excited muttering that had begun to gather around them like a hive of agitated bees. He opened his left hand to take Luffy’s and his captain inhaled sharply, but when his first mate simply pressed their palms together, he began to breathe again, gripping back at the warm comfort being provided by his swordsman.

Shanks teetered on his feet, slipping free of his crewmate’s grasp. Eyes unfocussed, but he seemed to be coherent enough to at least speak. “Friends.” He said, his voice rasping. He took a long, steadying breath before lifting his chin. “Everyone.” And his voice was strong, and just as Luffy remembered it when he had been a small child in Foosha Village. “Kibo is a special place for all that live here, for all that have been here before, and will become a special place for all those who are here for the first time. Hope’s Carnival is special, perhaps the last of its kind in the world – an all-encompassing gathering.” Benn put out a hand as Shanks stumbled backwards, but the man managed to stay on his feet. “Look around you!” he all but shouted, and his voice echoed with the magnified strength of the Den Den. “These people standing beside you, across from you, behind you – everyone in this room – everyone in this city! After you survive Hope’s Carnival, you will know them all!”

Luffy’s fingers gripped tighter around Zoro’s hand, so tightly that the swordsman was sure he would be bruised. Tilting his head slightly, he tried to catch a glimpse of his captain’s face, but the light was too poor to make any difference against that shadow cast by the brim of the younger man’s straw hat.

“Things have been said, maybe, in these few days leading up to the great challenges that await us. They can’t be taken back.” Shanks’ voice trembled slightly. Nami and Vivi looked at one another in slight confusion, as did a number of observers near them. “But maybe, before the end, there will be new words, better words – to replace them.” Benn stood at his captain’s side, his eyes dropping to the stage floor. “But,” Shanks threw his head back in a wide and impassioned smile. “We celebrate!” Cheers and whoops, clapping and hollers and whistles filled the air. “Drink and eat and make merry!” Shanks’ voice was now almost impossible to hear over the din. “On this last night before Hope’s Carnival!”

And that was all. Shanks handed back the Den Den to the suited man next to him, allowing Benn to pull him into his side as multitudes of people clambered up and across the stage to hug and shake hands and press themselves together with the captain and first mate. Similar activities were going on all over the room, and there was a growing queue around the wide double-doors and coat racks at the front. Sanji and Robin had already started to weave and tuck with the flow of the crowd that began to trickle in that direction, but Luffy hadn’t moved. The captain seemed rooted to the floor, his first mate still at his side, further anchoring the younger man, and Zoro could feel the slightest hint of a tremor through his clamped and quickly numbing fingers.

“Luffy.” Zoro twisted his wrist, with a great amount of difficulty, as he moved to stand between his captain and the dais. The brown eyes that usually stretched joyously above a smiling face, laughing or stuffing himself with meat, giggling about adventure… now looked back at him with an open longing that was so agonizing that he threw his free arm around Luffy’s shoulders, “Oi.” he breathed. Luffy shook, shook so hard and stiffly that his first mate worried that he would shatter himself to pieces.

A hand came down on Zoro’s shoulder, and he looked up. Benn was standing there, ire of seriousness on his face that could not be mistaken for anything but genuine concern for the young boy in his arms. There was no anger in Zoro for seeing Shanks’ first mate, none at all. In fact, his face didn’t even hurt anymore. There was no one standing near them now, everyone gathered around the doors pushing and shoving, but in a rambunctiously-happy way. Zoro had a clear view around Benn, of Shanks sitting on the floor with his back propped up against one of the stone pillars. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be weaving, even as he sat there.

Zoro shared a knowing glance with Benn, the both of them first mates on ships where their captains needed a hell of a lot of help sometimes. Luffy suddenly shivered violently, his lips parting to let out a long, but fairly quiet sound of in injury as both hands clutched at the back of his first mate’s shirt. Zoro allowed the younger man to essentially climb up onto him, locking his heals over his lower back as he hung onto him, and the swordsman buried his chin into the crook of Luffy’s neck. Benn Beckman watched the green haired man quietly for a moment, before smiling. He retreated to gather up his own captain in his arms, and the two first mates made for the doors together.

 

### A Challenge Accepted

### ~~~~*~~~~

“What do you mean, you’re going with them?” Nami asked Chopper as the Zoan clicked his small hooves together.

The little doctor looked over at Bepo, the white bear holding his captain’s frail and unconscious form to his chest. Law’s eyes so deeply black and sunken into his paled face that he looks like a skeleton. Nami followed her nakama’s gaze. “He wanted to ask me something.” Chopper finally says. “Right before he passed out, he…”

Nami was concerned, she couldn’t help it. Chopper wasn’t usually away from the crew, in any sense of the word, and she would never forgive herself if he were to be used or hurt – just because he didn’t know any better. The redhead glanced across to Sanji and Robin, standing in line to gather their coats. She didn’t know where Usopp had gotten to. Luffy and Zoro she had seen in the crowd, but they weren’t there now either. She bit her lip. “Okay.” She breathed. “Okay… just…” she knelt down and took Chopper’s tiny little hooves in her hands. “Just be careful… Ne?”

The Zoan’s elation must have been apparent to Bepo, who carefully tread his way towards them across the stone floor. He inclined his head before Nami as the woman stood up and considered him. “Nami.” She told him, “I’m the Strawhat Navigator.”

“Bepo.” The white bear said. Unable to offer his hand, but she didn’t care. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and he felt a shiver run down his furry back.

“I’m letting you take care of our doctor, and he better not come to any harm.” She intoned with more authority than she thought she had, but would be damned not to use.

“Oi! Bepo!” Two men in identical white overalls came running up from amid the stragglers still mulling around inside. They checked, a few paces from their crewmate, staring at their captain held in his arms. “O-oi.” Shachi reached a hand forward to place it on Law’s shoulder, giving the thin man a little shake. “Captain…”

“He’ll be alright.” Chopper piped from near the man’s hip. A supportive hoof on his lower back. Shachi didn’t look convinced by any means, but he nodded just the same.

Nami watched Chopper depart with the bear and the two men and the unconscious swordsman, hoping that she had not made the wrong decision in allowing the youngest member of their crew to go with them. Robin and Sanji came up behind her, handing over her coat and scarf that they had pulled from the racks.

Sanji lit a cigarette, eyes on the small party stepping out into the swirls of fresh falling snow. “That guy.” He said. “He’s that ‘Surgeon of Death’ from North Blue.”

Nami’s fingers slipped a little on her buttons. “How do you know that?” she asked.

The cook shrugged. “Bounty posters arrived at the Baratie all the time. I saw his about a week before I went out to sea with Luffy. Didn’t know that shitty guy had gotten onto the Grand Line, but back then the Marines had him pegged for thirty-eight million beli.” Sanji exhaled a puff of yellow smoke into the air thoughtfully. “I wonder what his head’s worth now.”

“Where is Usopp-san?” Robin asked, pulling her thin fingers into a set of fur-lined gloves.

Nami felt her eyes twitching; her already aching stomach gave a turn. She didn’t know where their sniper had gone. They were losing track of crew members left and right, and she didn’t like that at all.

“He’s out with his dad.” A plump man with red goggles sidled up behind the redheaded Strawhat navigator. She turned to face him. A huge man, well… a fat man, anyway – he was hardly any taller than Sanji. He had on a green and white stripped coat that went all the way down to his booted feet, ruddy face smiling from beneath a fuzzy balaclava. “Name’s Roo, Lucky Roo.” He beamed, extending his gloved hand, and she tentatively shook it.

“Nami.” She said.

“You’re Luffy’s crew, ain’tcha?” he asked, shaking hands in turn with Sanji and Robin. “Mightily happy he found some nakama out in the world!” the portly man laughed. “Shoulda seen him a few years back! Begging us to take him out to sea, even stabbed himself in the face trying to look cool!” he laughed.

Sanji grinned. He of course had never asked his captain just how he had gotten that scar under his eye.

“You know Luffy?” Nami asked, “Whose crew do you belong to?”

“He’s one of mine.” Benn sighed, stepped up to where Roo and the three Strawhats were talking. “You get here in time to sign up?”

“Aye.” Roo chuckled as he produced a forest-green ticket from an inside pocket. “Gonna take it easy this year, Benn, don’t you worry.” He assured his nakama, stuffing his ticket safely away.

Sanji, Nami, and Robin weren’t paying attention to the Red Hair Pirates, focused instead on Zoro. Their first mate had come up to them without a word, young captain tucked up in his arms. Luffy had confined himself into such a tight ball that they were wondering how he was able to breathe like that. It made him look like a child, with Zoro’s fingers clasped up under his rear to keep him from sliding down to the floor.

“Luffy.” Nami said softly, but when she placed a consoling hand on her captain’s shoulder he shuddered, nuzzling closer into the crook of Zoro’s neck and chest. The first mate gave her a silent headshake before he rested his chin down on the back of Luffy’s head, straw hat dangling down over his back, hanging from its cord.

There was a rustle of fabric, Roo draping a thick coat over Benn’s shoulders, and tucking another over Shanks as he snored wetly into his first mate’s shoulder.

“Sorry about all this.” Benn said suddenly, unable to look at the solemn young crew beside him.

Zoro sighed. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He grunted laboriously, one hand trailing up to squeeze Luffy’s shoulder, and his captain clutched back at him. “When he wakes up, your Sencho, tell him he should come see us.”

Robin drew Zoro’s coat up over him, securing the front toggles so that Luffy was contained within the folds of fur and fabric. Luffy’s own coat she slipped around the younger man so that the wind would not be able to find a gap to slip through.

Sanji didn’t quite know what to think about Luffy’s clinging silence, but the look of moral support passing between the two first mates made him grin. “Aye.” He agreed. “We’ll have some shitty drinks, and you can catch us up.” He told Zoro, pointing with his half-smoked cigarette. “You can tell us exactly *how you managed to get lost when this place is only six goddamn blocks from the hotel.”

**

Tashigi bit down on her lip, hard. Hard enough to draw blood. Thick and coppery, it slipped behind her teeth over her tongue, and she felt warmth dribble down her chin.

“There is no point in disturbing them.” Smoker rumbled before his fingers bit into the woman’s shoulder, also observing the five Strawhat pirates as they exchanged words with Benn Beckman and Lucky Roo, members of the infamous Red Hair Pirates and direct subordinates of the Owner of Kibo Island. Tashigi didn’t make a sound when her commanding officer released her and turned. With a metallic *clink he flicked his lighter to life and lit the ends of a pair of fresh cigars. “Exercise some of that ‘swordsman’s restraint’ you keep claiming you possess.”

“You tease her so, Smoker-kun.” Hina shook her roseate head, sever eyebrows drawing together as she too witnessed the pirates part ways. The two captains being carried out by their first mates. It seemed odd to her. Very odd.

“I don’t need your sympathy.” Ripping her eyes away, Tashigi faced the stone wall that had been at her back. She trembled all over, meito rattling in her hand. Smoker frowned.

“So, what did you want? Black Cage Hina.” he asked, eyes closing as he exhaled a dense cloud of smoke about his face.

“This year’s Carnival, you will be participating, yes?” The other Marine Captain inquired.

Smoker nodded, fishing a red ticket from is pocket. “Hope’s Challenge.” He breathed. “Why do you ask?”

“You will survive.” Hina said. It was not a question, but neither was it an order.

The older man looked at her, eyebrow cocked. “I had planned to.” He said, “Isn’t it my business?”

His fellow Marine Captain’s lips curled in a sneer. “You selfish bastard.” She hissed, throwing him a truly filthy look as her gloved hands balled into painful fists.

**

The snowy streets were alive with lights and people. Fireworks whistled up above the rooftops to explode tremendously in blossoms of gold and silver sparks, blanketing the sky for a solid minute before fading away. There were raised stages and platforms where musicians played, rings of people in brightly colored clothes dancing and clapping. Bars and other eateries had their doors flung wide to serve hot beer and spiked rum right out into the street despite the frigid temperature. Men stood atop barrels or crates and cried for bets, writing down names on long ledgers as fistfuls of belis were thrust at them, their pockets already bursting with notes.

It seemed the whole town was partaking in the great celebration on the night before Hope’s Carnival. However, the Strawhats did not feel even remotely like joining them. Nami, Sanji, Robin, Zoro, and Luffy. The five nakama walked back to their hotel slowly, because Zoro was still carrying their despondent captain in his arms. The swordsman really did feel like a true idiot when they came to the doors of the Inn, only twenty short minutes after leaving Square Door.

“Told you~.” Sanji sang as he held the door open. The cook grinned at the glare that drew both Zoro’s green eyebrows together, before helping Robin over the threshold with her hand held gingerly in his own.

Nami’s attention kept drifting onto Luffy. The captain’s eyes open and fixed on Zoro’s shirt, where his fingers were dug in, gripping at the fabric as though he didn’t know where he was. She couldn’t see much else of his face because he was pressed in close to Zoro, and their coats were pulled up high on his cheekbones. Zoro’s face seemed to be harboring the same distracted ire as the man he carried – as if they both occupied a space apart from their other three crewmates.

“Welcome back!” The receptionist sang. Her blond hair fanning out across her shoulders, and she smiled brightly. “You’ve come back very early?” she asked, watching as they crossed the lobby for the elevator doors, which stood open.

Robin bowed her head with a gentle smile. “It has been quite a day.” She said simply, following last into the small lift compartment beside Sanji.

Zoro leaned himself against the lift wall, nose buried in his captain’s messy black hair and closing his eyes.

“You going to tell us what happened?” Nami asked quietly.

The swordsman’s shoulders hitched, and he sighed. “No.” he breathed.

The Strawhat navigator felt a wave of hot anger traverse upwards from the pit of her stomach, burning her spine. She wanted to hit him, and Luffy, hard! But one look at the side of Luffy’s face, his open brown eyes that gazed forward so blankly and lost… She could not bring herself to even yell at Zoro as the lift shuddered into motion, carrying them up to the third floor.

Zoro felt her regarding at him, and he really wished she’d stop. He wasn’t able to articulate this, however, not with Luffy’s hands trailing so lightly under his shirt, hidden from view by the heavy coats covering them.

“What are you doing, Sencho?” he muttered as quietly as he could into Luffy’s ear, hoping like hell nobody could hear him over the *clank and *grind of metal gears. The young captain didn’t answer, only nuzzled closer into his first mate, warm breath tracking across his neck.

The lift doors opened in short order; the swordsman’s placid steps retreating to his and Luffy’s room. Before anything could be said the two of them disappeared inside and the door closed quietly, lock sliding into place with a faint *tap.

“What do you suppose happened?” Robin asks into the quiet, pulling her gloves off.

Nami chewed her lip, not wanting to think about whatever-it-was that had disturbed Luffy so very badly that even Zoro would show such concern. For him to have carried Luffy all this way…

“I’m sure we’ll figure everything out in the morning.” Sanji yawned, stretching his arms back over his head. He turned towards the opposite end of the hall. It had been a long time since he’d had such a luxurious room all to himself. Pity he only felt like sleeping.

“Sanji-kun.” Nami said suddenly, just as the blond cook’s fingers slipped around the door handle.

“Yes, Nami-swan?” he asked gently.

The navigator had pulled out her and Robin’s room key, fitting it into the lock. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for any of us to be alone tonight.” She said, Robin placing a hand on the redhead’s shoulder.

Sanji felt like he’d been punched in the gut. No way he had heard her right… “Nami-san?” he muttered.

“Just for one night, and you… you behave yourself!” she snarled, but it was half-a-lie, even Robin could tell.

Fingers slipping off the doorknob, Sanji walked back towards the two women as Nami eased open the door. He hand Robin exchanged a knowing glance before they followed her into the room. Both of them knew Nami wanted to look after him, because she could not look after Chopper, and Usopp was also missing from their side. Luffy was in pain, seemingly, but she was denied speaking to him… So much was flying out of control around her, and she was clinging to the nakama nearest to her. He knew that. And he knew she knew that he could more than look after himself. Still, she needed to cling to him, and to Robin; to not allow either of them to be alone, which he found more than flattering.

**

“Gararara!” Whitebeard laughed heartily at the look of his First and Second Division Commanders, standing in the elevator compartment dripping wet from head to foot and naked.

Their clothes had been absorbed, and subsequently destroyed, in Ace’s fire while they made love on the hotel roof. It had not been the first time, and nor, the Whitebeard Pirate Captain expected, would it be the last. The captain chortled at their discomfiture as Marco sighed, his chin held up defiantly with as much shredded dignity as he could while he crossed the third floor corridor for his and Ace’s room. Their captain waited for a few minutes in the hallways for them to find clothes, and then he entered.

“Here.” Still chuckling to himself, Whitebeard gave both Ace and Marco a dark green ticket.

Ace sighed. “Thanks pops.”

“Gararara, after I heard you had shown up in the night, well.” He favored his sons with a warm and fatherly smile. “If you had managed to make it to Square Door, I would have been very surprised indeed.”

“What event is it this year, for the green ticket?” Marco asked, rummaging in the dresser in search of a spare belt for Ace to use.

The old man took a seat on the edge of the First Commander’s bed, elbows on his knees as he knelt for the height of the ceiling. “There are two.” He tells his sons, holding up a pair of fingers. “The Teeth of Kibo, and the Fire of Hope.”

Marco barked with laughter, “Seems they were made for us this year!” he claps Ace on the shoulder.

“Not quite.” Whitebeard says. “These are partner matches, open-ended, mind you. You can pair with each other, or choose anyone on the island that you trust.”

Ace looked down at his ticket. “What’s the Teeth of Kibo?” he asked. He had not been to as many years as the rest of Whitebeard’s crew, and there were still many secrets about the island he didn’t know.

“It’s a race.” Marco explains, stowing his ticket. “Ice Races around the west end of the island. The ‘Teeth’ refer to the cliff face and lower reef.”

The Second Division Commander nods. “And the Fire of Hope, that’s gatta be that volcano north of here?” Ace had seen it, last year, when he and Marco had been participating in the Sheer Climb.

Far away, even through thick grey snow clouds and swirling flakes, he had seen it; a massive form of rock reaching up into the air, belching magma and flame, lighting up the sky all around with a colossal grey halo. Ace had not been sure if it was his Devil’s Fruit or not, but he had been strongly drawn to that mountain, and now the opportunity to see it up close… it was tempting.

“Precisely.” Edward Newgate told him, grinning. “I thought you two might like the work out. You’ll have some time to find partners, or you can pick either one and go together, it’s up to you.”

**

Basil Hawkins sat on the edge of his balcony, feet dangling in front of him in his heavy boots. The cold was not so bad. In fact, the North Blue captain was beginning to think he was getting used to the weather as he tipped back a bottle of whiskey and listened to the music drifting up from below. Every now and then a silvery shower of sparks lit up the night sky, wandering beautifully through the air before fading away to reveal twinkling blue stars in the frozen sky. There were no clouds out tonight, which was a first in the week that he had already spent on Kibo. He much preferred this clear night over the overcast of grey that had been so ever-present up until now. With a *crunch, the captain dug the bottle into the snow at his side, extracting a deck of cards from his pocket and flipping one over.

“The Falling Man.” Basil whispered, tipping the deck a second time. “The Dying Light.” Again, he tipped the deck. “The Crown.”

The captain pushed his cards back into the pocket of his coat, wondering vaguely what these three might mean. He had drawn his cards several times in the last few days, and always these three had appeared to him. The “Magician” Basil Hawkins, had always used his cards, even before he attained his Devil’s Fruit abilities, which have afforded him such an extension to his powers. In his entire life, the cards had not lied to him. Pulling the bottle up from the snow, he sighed. What good was being shown the future, if he could not read the words?

**

Zoro pushed the door closed with his foot, and a soft darkness fell across the room. The curtains over their window were open, and a pale blushing glow revealed just enough of everything for him to feel confident enough to walk to the nearest bed, pressing his captain down upon it.

“Luffy.” He breathed, sliding his coat off his shoulders while at the same time holding his captain’s partially-lidded eyes with his own.

The Strawhat captain untangled his legs from around his first mate’s hips, resting back and allowing Zoro to loose them both from scarfs and gloves and tied toggles. All the ‘stuff’ that was getting in the way of them being able to touch each other. When at last Zoro had slid down his captain’s trousers, revealing again that comparable member, stiff and red and warm; he knelt over him, climbing up to bring to bear a hungry kiss which was enthusiastically returned.

Luffy crooned into Zoro’s mouth as their sexes made contact, hot skin sliding in precum already dribbling between them. Zoro swallowed his captain’s voice, one hand holding down the younger’s shoulder while the other wrapped weather-roughened fingers around them both, fondling gently, and encouraging delightful flares to race into each other’s bellies.

For a while Zoro slipped his fingers along their mingling shafts, pressing and probing indiscriminately. Luffy writhing under him so that he kept having to shift his arm and weight to keep the younger man from wriggling free. “Let me have you, now?” Zoro keened, his own breath hot and gasping for the closeness of his release, and he forced his hand away.

His captain sweated and whined, staring down at the place where he had been so lovingly touched a moment before. Both hands reached up to take Zoro’s face, dragging the older man down into a desperate kiss. “Yes, Zoro.” He said, lips brushing breathlessly against his swordsman’s ear, tongue teasing a faint chime from his three piercings. “Take me, now.”

Zoro’s cock, already slick with pre-ejaculate, stiffened still further at his captain’s husky command. Taking Luffy’s lips again in his, the swordsman pressed his tongue passed teeth, methodically probing and tasting as he shifted himself atop and between the younger man. Luffy deftly assisted, savoring his swordsman in turn with a messy kiss that neither of them minded. Hot lines sent shivers up and down the green haired pirate’s body as Luffy directed his girth into just the right place before resting both sweating palms on the older one’s flanks, taking in great amounts of air while waiting for his lover to push into him.

“L-Luf-fy…” the swordsman’s ragged exhale fell on ringing ears. The younger man’s back arching as he emptied all the air from his lungs, all thought and energy forced into the effort of relaxing for his lover as Zoro slowly…. Oh! God! So-slowly… broke him open.

The tight slide into his lover’s body was like nothing Zoro had experienced before. The heat of him, and the crushing tightness... But the swordsman was not expecting the look on Luffy’s face, when he finally managed to tear his eyes from himself disappearing inside his young captain. He choked. Hot pleasure in his belly transforming instantly to freezing guilt and shame and *great concern at the expression of pain that pinched and contracted his normally bright and cheery features. His mouth open in a silent scream as both shoulders pressed down into the mattress.

“Oh… oh god… Luffy?” Zoro didn’t know if backing out would be painful also, but he unconsciously decided that it had to be better than remaining inside the faintly undulating body of his captain. His hips began to drag back, but just before he could pull out entirely, Luffy’s hands darted forward. Fingers clapped down into his sweating thighs and fingernails dug in deep, holding the swordsman in a powerful grip.

“Zoro.” The younger man breathed, licking his lips. His green haired nakama was relieved, over-joyed, in fact, to see the smallest of grins appear on that still-straining face. Luffy’s eyes were closed, but he nodded slightly, dragging his swordsman back inside with an encouraging little roll of his own hips.

“You’re sure?… you’re… you’re alright?” Tentatively Zoro allowed himself to sink in, and continue sinking in until his balls were pressed up against Luffy’s ass, and the younger man gasped and groaned.

“Zoro… can’t hurt… me.” His captain breathed, and he giggled – and if *that was not just the weirdest sensation Zoro had ever felt before! “Shi, shi, shi! Because I’m rubber!”

The young captain pulled his first mate down against him, intertwining their tongues as his insides gradually acquainted themselves with the form of his lover. Zoro crooning with every little movement Luffy made with his hips, and the clench of those very-lower-back muscles he was buried in. After a few moments he was released, Luffy’s eyes open now, captivating him with a delighted curiosity, and he felt emboldened by the silent challenge being issued suddenly by his lover. He wanted to have his way with his captain, and had been ordered to do it. Now… now that Luffy knew the intensity of his swordsman’s attack, he would have to make sure he did not disappoint.

A hungry grin pulled at Zoro’s lips, and he allowed his green eyes to stare back into his captain, both hands lifting the younger man’s thighs and resting one leg over his shoulder to rake nails along the outside. Luffy purred for him, and he liked that. He drew back slowly, slow enough that he could feel every slight caress of internal musculature that hugged his shaft, and when he was nearly fully exposed, he held Luffy’s gaze, hovered, and waited for the younger man to exhale before diving in with such force that he pushed his captain a few inches into the pillows. Luffy gasped. A low moan escaping from the bottom of his diaphragm that he wasn’t even aware he could make. Zoro drank it in, keeping his lover’s gaze.

Again, Zoro drew back. Again, he pushed forward. Luffy had never known a man who could reach such places inside him, who could fill him so entirely with fire. Who could touch every spot of searing, sparkling, dizzying pleasure that he had ever been able to find himself.

“Yes!” Luffy’s arms shot back to support himself against the headboard as Zoro pounded into him. Smiling with the *pleasure of the greatest fight they had ever had together.

Without slipping free, Zoro turned Luffy so that he was belly down, and lifted back against his hips. Now kneeling for his swordsman Luffy allowed his back to arch, taking in more (if it was even possible) of his length. He slowed his attack, opting for a fluid push and a rocking motion that made the man under him croon and mutter incomprehensible things. Sweat trickled down the sides of Zoro’s face, dripping onto his captain’s back. Knowing he would not last much longer, the green haired man pressed his belly against Luffy’s back, still rocking and driving in deeply. One hand trailed around to grasp his lover’s warm erection, thumb spreading the slick fluid that slowly oozed from its tip.

Luffy’s arms shuttered, all the blood in him pooled in his groin, rushing in circles and leaving his brain empty but for the knowledge that he was warm and safe and comfortably aroused to the point of floating away. If he had any wits left to make use of thoughts (which he did do rather often, no matter what people thought) he might have equated that moment as the perfect way he would want to die.

“Zoro!” His wave broke like shattering swells, and the warm sea spilled over Zoro’s fingers and the back of his cupped hand.

The green haired swordsman’s answering thrust broke him as well, and his free hand gripped a handful of blankets. Knuckles white while orgasm charged though limbs and guts. Buried still so deeply, his sensitivity hikes, pushed by the pulsing of Luffy’s reacting muscles as the younger man reels, gasping and stuttering.

When Zoro’s body allows him to move again, he leans forward to place a line of gentle kisses across Luffy’s sweaty and heaving shoulders. The younger man gasps at the brush of his lover’s lips, and his arms finally give out. Both of them sinking onto the bed, Zoro sliding carefully free. Luffy doesn’t care that he’s lying in a puddle of his own fluids, or that they’re both soaked and dripping with sweat. He pulls himself up into the cradle of his swordsman’s muscular body, breathing him in.

“Are you alright?” Zoro asks. The tremor of his voice sinks warmly into the younger man like wine, and Luffy wants to have him again… “Sencho.”

The raven haired captain slides his fingers up and down his swordsman’s side, feeling his ribs and the valleys of musculature honed by years and years of intense training. “Mmm.” He hums, because it is all that he can articulate.

Zoro’s arm wraps around his captain’s shoulders as he rolls onto his side, hugging Luffy into his chest. Within moments Luffy is asleep, his breath warm against the older man’s skin. With a low chuckle his green haired nakama adjusts the blankets so that they are covered together, placing one last kiss to Luffy’s brow before closing his eyes.

 

### White Dawn

### ~~~~*~~~~

Slowly sucking down the line of neck and shoulder that tastes like rum, because every inch of the man tastes like rum, the dark haired man brings one strong set of calloused fingers forward. The practiced pads of those fingers rolling his captain’s soft sack, feeling its hotness and gentle twitch and hitch in time with the man’s breath heaving in his chest. Ragged voice pushed out between his lips, stirred by the sensations that have caught him at that vulnerable moment between sleep and waking. It was a slight sound, begging for more.

Shanks’ back arches against Benn’s chest, his head resting back cradled at his first mate’s shoulder, naked skin touching naked skin. Benn has one hand clutched across his captain’s chest, while the other rounds forward to serve the double purpose of pinning his lover’s only arm, and stoking him off. His own need firmly secured inside Shanks' warm undulating body. The Red Hair first mate rocks slowly forward, driving himself deeper into his captain.

“Good morning.” Benn purrs into his lover’s neck before clamping teeth into the muscled juncture just above his collarbone. He feels Shanks’ tighten around him, and he grunts into the sensation. Shanks is not yet fully awake, and he knows it. Often when he catches his captain this way, just before waking, and just before his almost obligatory hangover takes command of his mood, he can keep it from fully surfacing... and Benn would very much like to keep the Yonko in a good state of mind, on this – The First Day of Hope’s Carnival.

“Ahhn… y…” Shanks’ eyes are rolled back, more than most of them are only whites, and Benn grins, teeth grazing over the reddened marks of other bites along his captain’s neck and shoulder he'd made that morning. He can taste the rum and whiskey both at once, seeping from the younger man’s pours, as if he might get drunk off it himself.

“What was that, Sencho?” Benn croons, grinding into him.

Shanks’ shoulders hitch and shiver when Benn’s fingernails rake across his chest, leaving four red ribbons on his pectorals contrasting sharply with the white scars that were already there – from innumerous battles long ago decided. His breathing heaves and he bears down around his first mate, becoming fully aware that he is, at this moment, filled. “N-Not fair!” He gasps, smiling. Bucking back his own hips, Shanks earns a sigh of pleasure from his first mate.

“All… is fair.” Benn leans into Shanks, breath ghosting at the shell of Shanks’ left ear, nuzzling into silky red hair that refuses to grey or thin, even as the man ages on, “…because we are pirates.”

Shanks releases a long moan with his first mate’s name in it, professing to some god how he’s about to die; Benn grinning before chancing to grasp him tighter, angling his wrist to press firmly down at the sensitive slit at the head of Shanks’ phallus.

The captain keens, hips jerking erratically forward, driving the older even deeper.

“Happy Birthday, by the way, Sencho.” Benn croons, sliding one gentle finger along the base of Shanks’ cock, tickling at the boundary of kinked red hair and curve of skin that connects to his inner thigh.

Shanks breath bubbles as he releases some sound half resembling a laugh, “you remembered.” he sighs. The hotness in his belly continuing to grow as his body comes closer to full wakefulness; trying to catch up with the blood already coursing like a river of fiery rapids in his veins.

“Of course I remembered.” Benn’s free hand ghosts across Shanks’ left nipple, his mouth and tongue back at work on his captain’s right shoulder. “What kind of a First Mate would I be, if I forgot my Sencho’s birthday?” He slows the pace, opting for a lighter pressure, and tracing hot lines up and over his captain’s swollen head, down the shaft and around, slowly slicking along the tender underside. He grinds his hips upward, driving the full length of himself into Shanks until he’s buried as far as he can go.

Guttural pleads escape the proud Yonko Shanks; one of the four emperors of the sea. Benn watches his lover’s sweating, squirming body, drinking in every wanting movement in the other's abdomen and thy and trapped arm. His angle is perfect, and Shanks could not break his grip even if he wanted to – but he knows also that he doesn’t want to – which makes him tingle, licking his lips.

Another bite – and this time Benn’s strident canines break skin. A little coppery tinge mixes in with the alcoholic musk already gracing his tongue, and he laps it up – his lover’s *taste. “Come for me.” He breaths into Shanks’ ear.

It is the only order he has ever been allowed to give his captain, and it growls from somewhere in his lungs that is not often used. He cannot keep Shanks from fighting, or drinking, or protecting little kids from sea kings… but this… He can command this…

“Come for me.”

*

It took Sanji maybe a full minute after he opened his eyes to get over the initial shock of waking up in bed with the two beautiful women, one of which he had been dreaming of waking up with for going on two years. Silky, lavender colored sheets were pulled right up over his chest; Robin’s warm breath falling softly across the left side of his neck, and his Nami-swan’s sweet touch on his right shoulder. The navigator’s fingers were resting just over his heart, fingernails in his skin from where she must have been gripping onto him for half the night. The cook was five seconds away from a full-on nose-bleed when there was a knock on the hotel room door that woke both women from their pleasant dreams.

Nami slipped quickly from under the covers and ran across the room, throwing herself at the door and ripping it open so violently that the two men standing behind it both flinched back.

“Usopp!” Nami cried, quite literally, flinging her arms around the Strawhat sniper and dissolving instantly into tears.

The long nosed man putting both hands on her shoulders at a complete loss as to why she was crying. Nami grubbing after money, boring them to death with navigational gobbledygook, or beating random members of the crew senseless, he was used to. But a shivering, shaking, sobbing Nami? He looked to Sanji and Robin appealingly, but neither said a word.

The man next to him, undoubtedly Usopp’s father, Yasopp, didn’t appear to know what to do with himself. He just stared. After a short moment Sanji untangled himself from the bed sheets, and Robin stepped smartly into her slippers.

“Where’ve you been?” The blonde cook asked Usopp, Robin guiding Nami away and into the bathroom to wash her face.

“Ah, we wandered around town a bit, catching up.” Usopp was looking around the room, and then peered at the Strawhat cook with sparkling squint. “What have *you been up to, eh?” he asked, poking the skinny blonde in the chest with his elbow, a mischievous eye quirking.

Sanji pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit the end smoothly, though not belying the pink flush that wound around his neck and up the backs of his ears. “A gentlemen never discusses such things.” He coughed, flicking his lighter closed. It was then that he turned to the man at Usopp’s side. “You are Yasopp, aren’t you?”

Yasopp had been completely silent thus far, standing back from the door, but now looked rather shameful. “Yes.” He admitted.

Sanji sized up the renowned man as he continued to smoke; Infamous Sniper of the famous Red Hair Pirates. He had heard an awful lot about him from Usopp, so of course he couldn’t really be stupid enough to believe a lot of it. But he knew he was Usopp’s estranged father, and that meant something – because family always meant something. He extended his hand. “It is a pleasure.” Sanji told him.

Yasopp looked from Sanji’s offered hand, to the cook’s serious ire that grassed nothing but the most sincere respect. After a short pause he took it. “Likewise.” He breathed. Half of him felt that he didn’t deserve the look that Sanji was giving him, but Usopp smiled, nodding his long nose at his nakama, just as Robin and Nami came out of the bathroom.

“Where’s Chopper?” Usopp asked, suddenly realizing the Zoan was nowhere in sight. “I got back to the room and found you gone, but you’re here…” Usopp craned his neck, as if he would spot the little doctor asleep on the sofa or something.

“He’s helping out a friend.” Sanji said, blowing out a line of yellow smoke.

Usopp raised an eyebrow at that, but just shook his head. “What about Luffy and Zoro, did you find them?” he asked.

Nami hiccupped sharply; more tears welling in her eyes that made the sniper stare.

“Found ‘em.” Sanji said, running fingers through his hair and settling his smooth fringe over the left side of his face. “Something went down yesterday, Luffy was…” His voice trailed off, his eyes gone glassy.

“What?” Yasopp asked when Sanji fell quiet for too long. He remembered Luffy fondly from way-back-when. He didn’t want to think about anything bad happening to him any more than his current nakama did.

“Perhaps we should wake them, yes?” Robin suggested softly. Her arm tightening around Nami’s shuddering shoulders in a soothing way. “It is a happy day, after all. The first day of Hope’s Carnival?”

Nami tried to smile, really she did, but her lower lip kept trembling and she had to fight to keep from simply burying her face in the older woman’s shoulder and just losing it completely.

*

Zoro was already awake. He had been for a while, watching grey sunlight gathering on the other side of the hotel room window. Luffy was curled up in his arms, fast asleep and silent. He didn’t snore, which, Zoro considered, was odd. Usopp snored – and oh, how the sniper could snore – damn long-nosed bastard could wake half an island with the wheezing, snorkeling belts that came out of his overly large snout… but Luffy… Luffy made slight sounds deep in his lungs. Mostly those sounds stayed there, echoing inside his ribcage, but every now and then they were carried out of his mouth like another language. Words that sometimes made sense, and when he did make coherent sounds, Zoro leaned in close to listen. He heard several things, but they were only snatches of thought. He learned that night that Luffy was afraid of the dark, that he loved noodles, and that he was sure that he would become the Pirate King. Not anything new, mind… just things that he muttered in his sleep.

The room was growing pale around him as the swordsman watched the steady rise and fall of his lover’s chest, the color-draining dawn light filtering though their huge window at the far end of their room. Zoro trailed his fingers through Luffy’s hair, his captain’s dark locks giving way to his calloused fingers as if he were tracing shapes through water. Luffy crooned when his swordsman’s squared fingernails made contact with his scalp, skating gently across the shell of his ear. Zoro would not have been surprised if Luffy suddenly started sucking his thumb, because he had that kind of young quality about him as he slept – not that he felt he was sleeping with a child, far from it, but rather with a man who had retained the innocence so related to someone young. The swordsman shook his head at the thought. His eyes glanced back down on Luffy’s face, with that thick raised scar under his eye. The wound that had caused it must have been very deep at one time, to have left such an elevation in the tissue. Zoro was accustomed to scar tissue, hell, he almost had more scar tissue than skin. He knew how a wound healed, and how the damage left behind told the story of how it had been made. He read scars like Robin read books. Luffy’s scar, clearly caused by a bladed weapon, spoke to Zoro of a heavy wound on a young face, and how it had grown with his captain for years, and it aged him. Running one thick thumb across the scar on his lover’s cheek Zoro realized – though not for the first time – that Luffy was at once anciently wise while so childishly ignorant all at the same moment. Zoro was mesmerized by the sight, his fingers clutching to the warmth of his captain, because he could not bear to let him go – to leave him alone. And he wondered vaguely… why?

*Knock*Knock*Knock*Knock*

Luffy startled from sleep. Inhaling sharply while brown eyes snapped open with alarm, in such a way that Zoro felt a wave of anger that it had happened, and he clutched down on Luffy’s shoulder to keep him from wriggling away.

“Zoro?” Luffy winced at the pressure on his shoulder, not that it hurt, but that it was there at all.

*Knock*Knock*Knock* *Knock*Knock*Knock*

Zoro growled from the roots of his lungs subconsciously. He rolled himself out of bed and made for the door. The lights in the hallway were blinding after the low ambient presence in his and Luffy’s room. “What?” he grunted, squinting at the veritable mob that was assembled in the hallway.

Nami glowered at him. “What the hell do you mean, ‘what?’” she scowled, jabbing a finger into the swordsman’s chest. She pushed him back into the room, a feat only managed because he wasn’t expecting it. “You and Luffy disappear for two days, worry us half to death and–”

Her eyes trailed down as Zoro stumbled back with his feet tangled up in the pile of their clothing that had accumulated at the foot of the bed, falling flat on his back just in front of the bathroom door. Zoro had managed to pull on his pants before opening the hotel room door, but Luffy was naked under the blankets that he had wrapped up around his waist. When Zoro sat up rubbing his head from having clunked it on the wall, she noticed the bite mark blossoming across his shoulder, the reddened teeth marks complimenting the rather spectacular blue and yellow bruise along his jawline and across his cheek.

Nami’s eyes darted from the bite mark to the bed Luffy was sitting in, then to the other bed in the room next to it… blankets still neatly tucked at the corners and pillows stacked, obviously not slept in. She gazed down at the pile of clothing; both Luffy’s and Zoro’s clothes. Her eyes went slightly wide as she noticed a small bottle of lotion just visible under the bed skirt. Robin giggled behind her.

“Nami-swan.” Sanji crooned, standing next to Usopp and his father. She heard the cook’s lighter flick, and the tell-tail aroma of his specific brand of tobacco leaves wafting into her reeling senses. “Why don’t we leave these shitheads to get dressed? They can catch us up over breakfast.”

*

Chopper’s head was nodding as he sat in a chair beside Trafalgar Law’s bed. Bepo was in another chair opposite, his fuzzy arms folded across his chest. The Zoan knew Bepo was exhausted, but the white bear let on no such illusions that he would be willing to sleep while his captain remained unconscious.

The sun was coming up, as much as the sun could come up on the winter island of Kibo. Chopper’s eyes watched the slight increase of light against the grey-white cloud outside the windows. It reminded him of home. Drum Island had rarely ever had a clear day or night, and before he had gone to sea with Luffy and his other dear nakama, he had no idea that the sky was actually blue.

“Any change?” The little reindeer saw Shachi’s dark and worried eyes as he peeked his head in through the hotel room door.

“No.” Bepo answered in a low drone that was more than a little like a growl. His animalistic nature was all too clear to Chopper, who had decided that Bepo, while maybe human-like, was certainly not disposed to what others might call ‘civility’. He was… a complicated person.

Shachi hung his head, entering with a slumped back before sitting down in a chair and gripping to his captain’s knee. Chopper felt the crew’s concern sharply, because he had often felt the concerns of his own nakama when someone would be injured. Namely Luffy. When his rubber captain had been poisoned in Alabasta it had taken many days for him to recover enough even to open his eyes… Chopper shivered. He knew how frightening it was, to not know if your nakama will wake up again.

But Law was not Chopper’s nakama, so he was lucky – in a way – to have some level of professional detachment from the man. What he wanted to know, apart from what ailment had caused the Heart captain’s abrupt loss of consciousness, was what on earth the man wanted to ask him.

Bepo had no idea, and when he asked Shachi and Penguin, the both of them had shaken their heads. As far as they knew Law’s only concern on Kibo was to enter in one of Contestant Battles in Hope’s Carnival, and they admitted that they didn’t even know if he had done that. Chopper had found a blue ticket in Law’s shirt pocket, and had placed it on the side table next to the bed. That had cleared up the confusion of weather he was sighed up as a contestant. Of course if he never woke up, then there would be no point of even knowing that.

“The delegates from Dressrosa arrived today. Law started to get sick just after he saw them set foot on the paved street.” Penguin sighed, staring at his unconscious captain.

“You’re saying they made him sick? Just be being on the island?” Shachi scoffed. “It takes more than that to put a man down.”

Chopper’s ear twitched at that. “Dressrosa?” he asked. “What is that?”

“It’s an island in the New World.” Bepo’s toneless voice dripped with hatred. “Law’s brothers are there, his sister, his mother… it’s a big family.” He looked up at his crewmates. “But even if they are here, Shachi’s right, how could they have done this to him?”

*

This is a bad idea. This is a fucking terrible idea.

Zoro stared at his reflection in the mirror. Bruised, bloodied, bitten, pale, and now…

“Just wear one of mine.” Luffy suggested, holding up one of the red shirts Nami had packed for him before they came ashore.

Zoro groaned at the very idea. His captain’s preference for red clothing was fine for him, *he wanted to stand out and be the brightest thing around. He held up his ripped white shirt, somehow he’d managed to tear it almost completely in half when he stumbled over their laundry that morning. Damn sea-witch pushing him around and getting him tangled up.

“Just wear it.” Luffy crooned, pulling himself up close against Zoro’s back.

The swordsman allowed himself to sink back into Luffy’s heat, and he could feel his captain’s pulse on his shoulders – it was quickly gathering its rhythm. He scooted away, taking the flamboyantly red long sleeved shirt and shoving it over his head. It was even smaller than his white shirt had been, and Luffy took a moment to admire the way he could see each and every muscle – almost as if Zoro were wearing spandex.

“There!” he smiled, all his white teeth flashing brighter than Kibo’s sun. “Let’s get down to breakfast, I’m starving!”

 

### A Word Before the Main Fair

### ~~~~*~~~~

Dracule Mihawk’s left leg rested on his right knee, foot tapping in the air subconsciously as he considered his next move. The grin on Jozu’s face was distracting him. Whitebeard’s Third Division Commander taking his time to savor the taste of his cigar, a pungent – sweet smelling variety only fond on Kibo.

“You going to move, or should I ask Shanks to make the board a monument for passing tourists?” Diamond Jozu reached for a small glass to his side, tipping back a shot of whisky.

“Only barbarians rush ahead in games of strategy.” Hawkeyes sighed, his arms still crossed over his chest.

“True. But we are pirates.” The commander smacked his lips for the sharp tinge of alcohol slipping into his gut.

Mihawk moved his rook a few spaces to the left, poised to take Jozu’s knight, then checkmate…”

“Ah!” The larger man leaned in over the board and drew his castle forward. He took Hawkeyes’ other rook, settling in at just the right place for… “Checkmate, Hawky.”

Both yellow eyes narrowed as the swordsman lowered his foot to the floor, scanning the board for the obvious deception pulled by the cheating Whitebeard Commander. A booming laughter shook the window that looked out from Jozu’s room over the snowy courtyard. The sun had come up, but for all the light the clouds allowed down onto the island it might as well have been dusk. The warm glow from the lamp over their heads and fire burning in the room beside them made the outside look and feel all that much colder, and so neither was in a hurry to be out in it. After a brief and fruitless moment, the Shichibukai settled himself back into his chair, wooden arms supporting him as his hat tipped down to hide his scowl.

“Still the sore loser.” Jozu commented, rearranging the pieces back to the start.

The swordsman’s fingers brushed across Yoru’s gemmed hilt, the large black meito resting next to his high-backed chair. He hadn’t been able to sleep all night, not after all the ruckus involved with the Dressrosa delegates, Ace’s arrival, Whitebeard’s goddamn all-night drinking, Zeff stopping in to his room to ask if he were competing - and then proceeding to lecture him about the importance of keeping his skills sharp… Humph!! Like that old one-legged codger-cook had any right to treat him like a kid!

“I heard the 'prodigy' is here on Kibo this year.” Jozu said, cigar hanging loosely from his purple lips as he settled himself back and reached for more whisky, offering his guest a tiny glass.

“Which ‘prodigy’ would that be?” Hawkeyes shot back, but he also shot back the amber liquor.

The commander laughed, setting a now almost-empty bottle back down on the table before moving his pawn two spaces forward. “There are quite a few this year, aren’t there?”

Hawkeyes also moved a pawn, “some might say, too many.” He grumbled.

“Kibo doesn’t care.” Jozu observed, producing his knight to the game. “Why should you?”

Mihawk ground his teeth together, “Too many children makes for too few thoughts in the room.” He made another move forward with his pawn. “They all want a swing at glory. Idiots don’t even know what that means.”

“Why don’t you tell them?” the Third Division Commander opened the ranks by taking the first piece, one of the Shichibukai’s pawns. “Since you seem so concerned.”

“I’m not.” Mihawk rushed with a knight, dipping behind enemy lines for one of Jozu’s bishops before retreating back at the next available move.

“So you don’t mind that Roronoa Zoro is here?”

Hawkeye’s golden eyes flashed hot at the mention of the Rookie Swordsman, and he sucked at his lips. “Just make your next move, Diamond Jozu.”

**

Edward Newgate closed the door to his rooms, locking the catch before he turned and adjusted the heavy fur-lined coat that hung richly from his shoulders. Kibo would only get colder with the festivities underway, but that had never bothered the veteran captain. Every year he brought his whole fleet from the New World for the specific purpose of the carnival after all – even if most of his crew would be spending their time at sea this year, it was still more leisurely than fighting off the nameless hordes of rookies pirates or marines who had gotten bored.

“Edward.”

Fingers slipping in their motion to return the key to his pocket, Whitebeard turned towards Tsuru. The woman’s grey-white hair had been pulled back and braided. Sapphire earrings hung low on either side of her cheeks, and her normal Marine mantle of white and gold had been exchanged for a thick long coat of rich chocolate. A black scarf tied at her neck, and her hands were resting on her hips in fur-lined gloves. “Tsuru, dear.” The Strongest Man in the World gathered the slighter woman in his arms, lifting her as if she were a small child, and cradling her in the crook of his arm, they made their way out into the snow and ice of the streets teaming with people on their way to the Main Fair. No one bothered them on Kibo. It was the only place in the whole world, maybe, that they could be seen together and be treated as just that – together.

**

“Eh?” Chopper’s eyes were wide as one of Sanji’s serving dishes, his hooves trembling at his sides.

“Your research into devil’s fruit wavelengths is unique, Tony-ya.” Trafalgar Law’s voice rasped as he took a glass of water offered by his crewmate, Shachi. The Strawhat doctor watched closely as the Heart Captain swallowed a few mouthfuls carefully and slowly. “Doctor Kureha showed me some of your notes on the subject.”

Chopper’s stomach was doing loop-da-loops in his chest, and he really wished it would go back to where it belonged. “Doc-Doctorine?” he stammered.

“Ya.” Law said. “I had heard that the legendary medical skills found on Drum Island would lead me to some answers with how one’s devil’s fruit could be manipulated, channeled or directed more than what is usual.” He narrowed his eyes as he tried another mouthful of water. “I was shocked, to say the least, when we discovered the state of the medical community of Drum.”

Bepo hadn’t said a word while his captain spoke with the Strawhat Zoan, just sat in his chair beside his Sencho’s bed and glowered. Chopper could feel the menacing ire that emanated from him, though he wasn't sure if it was directed at him.

“So. When Kureha informed us that you, her student and creator of a certain drug that effects those wavelengths, had taken up with a certain Monkey D Luffy, it was not hard to figure out who’s crew you were a part of. When I heard you were here on Kibo, well, I would be no doctor of curiosity if I just let you slip by without comparing notes.”

Chopper continued to stare at the Hart Captain. Trafalgar looked little better than he had the night before, when he had passed out in Square Door. His eyes still ringed with black and blue circles, sunken into his pale skeletal face. It looked as if any moment he would just drop dead.

“What would you do with my research?” the Zoan asked. “What kind of devil’s fruit do you have?”

Law pushed himself up to sit more upright in his bed. “Mine is the Ope Ope no Mi, a Paramecia type.”

“I have not done any research into the Rumble Ball’s effects on Paramecias.” Chopper states flatly, crossing hooves over his chest. “I was my own test subject, and I specifically catered to my own Zoan type.”

“I don’t mind being the first to test my theory.” Law said, rubbing thumbs into the bridge of his nose. “I would simply like to compare notes.”

“You must have a reason?” the Zoan asked, “What are you hoping for?”

“Distance.” Law said, now rubbing at his sunken eyes. “My own powers are limited to proximity, and if it could be extended, however briefly, I believe I would have an advantage during the carnival.”

“I can’t possibly guarantee that.” Chopper’s heart hammered, partially because he was a little excited to know how a Paramecia would react to the mixture he himself used… partially because he thought it might kill this man if he tried.

“I’m not looking for a guarantee, Tony-ya.” Law said, bringing his eyes back down. “If you haven’t made up your mind to share you research with me at this stage, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

**

Ha! Hahaha! Heh Hee!

The flat of Nami’s hand smacked down on the tabletop with repeated enthusiasm. Accentuated by throaty, rasping, sobbing peels of mirth from Sanji – Usopp and his father had both stuffed their fists into their mouths to stop their own laughter, and Robin giggled into both her own hands and four others that were blossoming from out of the tabletop in front of her.

“Shut it!” Zoro growled as he sat down at the table and pulled a coffee cup and carafe towards himself

“Oh! Marimo!” Sanji wiped a tear form his visible eye. “Haha! H-how? How did you manage to get this on?” The cook tugged at the shirtsleeve between thumb and forefinger, earning him further growls of despondent fury from his green-haired nakama – not that it wasn’t well worth the red blush that crept right up Zoro’s neck and across his bruised face.

Luffy sidled into a chair at his swordsman’s side after slinging his coat across the back of his chair. Zoro really did look a picture, with his captain’s red shirt hugged so tightly to his upper body that it might as well have been painted on. A hand had landed on Yubashiri’s hilt before a much needed distraction arrived, in the form of Ace and Marco.

“I hope we aren’t interrupting anything.” Ace asked, cuffing his little brother and pulling him into a brotherly hug.

“Ace!”

Zoro shared a venomous look with Marco the Phoenix before the older blonde’s eyes traced up and down the green haired swordsman, taking in the ridges and curves of that ridiculously tight red shirt.

Marco grinned. “I had no idea.” He said, quirking an eyebrow. The First Division Commander crossed both muscular arms over his chest.

Sanji actually fell out of his chair, rolling back and forth on the burgundy carpeting, positively suffocating for laughing. Nami was howling, arms wrapped around Ace’s shoulders as mirthful tears slid down flushed cheeks.

Yasopp topped off his coffee and leaned closer to his son. “Are they always like this?” he chuckled.

“Ha! Yeah, well, Zoro doesn’t usually show up to meals in one of Luffy’s shirts.” Usopp attempted to whisper, but Zoro heard him anyway.

“You’re a dead man, Usopp!”

Around and around the table the swordsman chased the Strawhat sniper. Ace and Marco and Yasopp and Sanji and Nami all bent double, falling over chairs and trying to catch their breath. Zoro had managed to pin Usopp to the floor before Robin put a stop to any impending violence by way of six blooming arms wrapping around his arms and legs, making a pointed threat to his more “exposed” areas with a slight tap.

“Oh my.” Yasopp laughed again, still unable to take a drink of coffee because his shoulders were shaking so much.

“Better stop while you’re ahead, Marimo!”

Luffy swallowed when Robin winked at him, her expression softening for the blush that raced across her captain’s face. Zoro did give up at her threat, and returned to his chair, which he had to pick up off the floor. Sitting down next to Luffy he pulled his coffee towards him and sorely drank it down as conversation traversed over niceties and news, before cresting towards more important matters.

“First day of Hope’s Carnival is usually pretty calm.” Marco said, refilling his and Ace’s coffee cups.

“Not last year.” The Second Division Commander said, adding sugar from a dish on the table.

“Well, that was different - yoi.” He poked at Ace’s arm. “Nobody thought you and Hawkeye would start a damn duel in the central courtyard when I wasn’t looking.”

“You dueled Hawky last year?” Yasopp laughed, “How come nobody told me?”

“You were off with Benn at the south end, weren’t you?” Marco asked, pointing with his cup. “I heard you idiots broke into the Haunted Peer.”

“Haunted Peer?” Robin’s eyebrow lifted.

“Aye.” Ace pulled a plate of ham towards himself and took up a fork. “It’s on the north end of the island, the rails don’t go that way anymore, and the place is strictly off-limits.” Stuffing forkfuls of meat into his mouth, Ace kept talking. “ ‘course every year there’s always a few idiots who want to go see it – place's got a ‘urse and treasure legend an’ everything.”

“Treasure?” Nami’s ears pricked up, eyes alight with the possibilities of untold riches...

“Forget it!” Usopp slammed down a fist onto the table. “We are NOT going treasure hunting!”

Both Luffy and Ace burst out laughing, banging the flat of their hands on the table that rattled the silverware.

“Benn would shit himself before going there.” Yasopp chuckled, also helping himself to the food that had been brought to the table for them. “He hates ghosts.”

“You didn’t miss much, the Old Man showed up and gave Hawk-man a good talking to...”

Zoro watched the conversation flow between everyone at the table. It was quite the line-up, if he were honest with himself. Yasopp of the Red Hair Pirates, Marco and Ace – First and Second Division Commanders of the Whitebeard Pirates, then there was Luffy, himself, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Robin. It was at this moment when he realized that their Zoan doctor was missing.

“Oi, where’s Chopper?” he asked, reaching for more coffee.

Nami’s face fell, and Robin gave her hand a consoling squeeze.

“He’s with the Heart Pirates.” Sanji told Zoro. “Their captain, Trafalgar Law, he looked pretty bad last night.”

“Law?” Luffy asked, his cheeks filled to bursting with eggs and ham. “Who's 'at?”

“He’s one of the new up-and-coming rookies.” Marco said, “He’s got, what,” he looked at Ace, “A hundred and eighty million beli on his head now?”

"Sounds about right." Ace nodded.

Usopp fumbled his next bite. “A hundred and eighty million beli?!”

“Don’t worry about him.” Yasopp advised, setting down his cup and stretching his shoulders. “They say he's a North Blue brat, but he’s really from the New World. Got old enemies driving his bounty higher than it needs to be right now.”

“You think?” Ace quirked his eye at the Red Hair sniper. “I thought he was pretty vicious, ripping people’s hearts out to hold them for random.”

“Gives ‘em back though, doesn’t he – yoi?” Marco chuckled.

Nami’s face had paled. “H-how does he ‘give them back’?” she sputtered.

 

“Nami-san!”

From the entryway Princess Vivi and her father, Nefertiti Cobra, were making their way through the empty dining room to the only occupied table. Cobra was dressed in high finery, his onyx coat studded with gems and a crown on his head with a bit of frost on it. He smiled broadly as he gained their table, Nami jumping to her feet to wrap arms around the princess’ shoulders.

“Good morning.” The King of Alabasta beamed, his eyes lingering momentarily on Nico Robin.

“Ah! Cobra Ossan!” Luffy bounded up onto his rubbery feet and rounded the table, shaking hands enthusiastically with the older man.

“Mugiwara.” The King bowed his head. “Thank you for lending us your navigator for the contests.”

“Eh?” Luffy crossed his arms, quirking an eye towards the redhead. “What’s he mean, Nami?”

“I’m representing Alabasta for the Contest of Storms.” Nami told Luffy brightly, producing her ticket from an inside pocket.

“Oh. Okay!” Luffy nodded.

Zoro saw a twinge ripple across his Sencho’s back, and a couple of fingers on his right hand pulsed, but apart from that he appeared normal; all wide smiles and laughter as Nami picked up her coat and disappeared with the two Royals through the doors leading outside for snowy streets.

“Suppose we should get going also.” Yasopp yawned, draining the rest of his coffee in a single swallow. “Com’mon son, I want to show you the range. We should get a few hours of shooting in before the contest tomorrow.”

Usopp left with Yasopp, and soon after that Sanji made noise about needing to meet Zeff. Robin bowed respectfully before plucking up her coat, expressing interest in a bookstore nearby, leaving Ace, Marco, Zoro, and Luffy at the table to finish off the food and drink.

“Marco and I are going to hang out in the Main Fair.” Ace told Luffy, pushing a plate of eggs towards his younger brother.

“Are you going to be in a contest later, Ace?” Luffy asked, eyes round.

“Yep, we both got green tickets from the Old Man.” Ace produced the ticket from his pocket, “Haven’t decided yet, which one to enter, but…”

Zoro watched the interaction between Ace and Luffy, the two brothers exchanging words and emotion with so much familiar ease. Luffy had pulled his feet up off the floor and sat cross-legged in his seat, eyes fixed on Ace as he hung on his older brother's every word. His Sencho’s laughter felt good, and despite the discomfort from the clothes and the uncomfortable teasing that had taken place on his behalf prior to that moment, Zoro felt himself relaxing in the wash of the two brothers’ conversation. It wasn’t until Ace and Luffy started their sprint down memory lane – talking about alligators and treehouses – that he noticed he was being carefully scrutinized by Marco.

“What?” Zoro asked across the table, causing both Ace and Luffy to look over at him.

Marco did not seem at all abashed by the venom in Zoro’s words, perhaps he had almost expected it? He took another drink of his coffee. “I was just wondering, which contest you and Luffy have entered?”

Luffy fished out a blue ticket from his pocket and presented it. “They said it was a random ticket.” The young Strawhat captain told Ace.

Ace nodded. “Oh, it’s random alright.” and he took Luffy’s ticket. “See on the back, it has the day of your contest… three.” He read. “That means that on the third day of the carnival they will make an announcement for the blue tickets, so you better be paying attention. Kibo doesn’t like people being late.”

Marco chuckled.

“What does that mean?” Zoro asked, fishing out his ticket. There was a spiky looking ‘four’ on the back of it. “We heard that last night too, from the announcer on stage.”

“Kibo is a living island.” Marco told Zoro, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “Some islands, old islands, are rumored to have eaten devil’s fruits. I don’t know if that is true for Kibo, or if it’s just some rumor to keep the carnival alive, but there is something that happens to people who do not respect the timing of their tickets.” The First Division Commander leaned forward, placing both elbows on the table. “They say – yoi – that when you don’t appear as promised, the island puts you where you need to be.”

“What’s that mean?” Luffy tilted his head to the side, “So it doesn’t really matter, you’ll just show up where you need to be? Why’s that so scary?”

“Oh, that’s not all.” Ace says, tapping the side of his nose with two fingers. “Sometimes.” He said mysteriously, “When they find you, they only find half of you.” The Second Division Commander clapped his hands under his younger brother’s nose, making the captain jump. “Kibo eats the rest.”

 

### Magic Show

### ~~~~*~~~~

Ace and Marco left the Strawhat captain and first mate, making their own slow way to the Main Fair being held in the massive courtyard in front of the Roger Hotel where they were staying. The Main Fair, as it was referred to, housed the usual citizen events. Everything from dancing and cooking competitions to rides and carnival games, theatrical acts and curiosity shows... Anyone who was anyone on Kibo would be present for as many days of the Main Fair as possible, and each day during Hope’s Carnival the site would move, giving all eight districts one day to host the various festivities – adding their own special flavors as the days unfold.

For a while the two men walked in silence, skirting around familiar blocks with their feet whispering in the snow. They waved at people they knew, and some that they didn’t. It didn’t matter. Marco had a famous face on Kibo, and Ace was famous by association being the personable guy that he was.

“Yoi.” Marco muttered as they rounded a corner into a deserted alley between two blocks. They could hear the next street over teeming with people, but here it was quiet. “I want you to come back with me.” The Mythical Zoan says, one hand finding its way to Ace’s and interlacing their fingers while pushing back soft onyx locks with the other. “When the contests are over… when it’s time to leave.”

Ace clutched almost desperately back at the hand of his lover, “We’ve been through this.” He said. Listless grey eyes tracked to the side, focusing briefly on blonde stubble on the older man’s strong jaw. “Over and over again, Marco…”

“It’s not your responsibility.” The older man breathed as he leaned into Ace, warm breath tugging a sound of delight from the Logia’s lungs before biting down.

“It… is….” Ace’s free hand came around, pulling at Marco’s belts. “Teach was my subordinate. I’m responsible for what he does.”

Marco grimaced against Ace’s heat, sucking a thick purple bruise into existence in the groove between neck and shoulder. He knew Ace was humoring him, that he could have simply turned to flames, backed away – if he had wanted to. With a low growl the First Division Commander thrust Ace’s back against the stone wall, pinning the Logia’s arms at the wrists.

“You want to die- yoi?” He spat, knee coming up and between Ace’s legs, and the younger man gasped for the sharp press onto cold rock.

“Marco.”

**

Chopper barely noticed where he was going. Hardly saw the men on stilts draped in red and gold fabrics, or their faces hidden behind clay masks depicting features a little more than human. His nose prickled that the flavor of the air, booze and food prevailing – though also there were scents of herbs, teas, musks and perfumes. The Zoan sidestepped around a low fence that had been picketed into the ground to protect a frozen garden. Before he knew where he was, he was inside another building – this apparent by the temperature change, and he raised his eyes.

Along one entire wall were coats and scarves, mittens and hats and walking sticks and boots, all hung on brass hooks or draped carefully over wooden racks. The blue-tiled floor swam with melted snow, a bit of slush just around the doormat. A man stood behind a counter further inside, and behind him were several staircases and a few sets of doors with dials above them; similar to the elevators he’d seen in the hotels.

“May I help you?” bowed the man behind the counter, one hand pressed at the top of a shallow brown bowler hat as he inclined his head.

“Ah.” Chopper looked around. There were paintings on the white-washed walls, scenes of open meadows with brightly colored flowers and vibrantly blue skies. Others that depicted the sea; open waters with birds and rocks and swirls of wind, more with ships in full sail, or fishermen hauling in delicately painted nets with spots of red shellfish. Light glittered over everything, leaving not even a shadow under the countertop. Every establishment Chopper had seen while on the island seemed to have centered its focus on light – understandable, since the winter island of Kibo gained very little of it naturally.

“Are you perhaps lost?” the man guessed, pulling at the curls of his long dark mustache.

The Zoan nodded his head. “Kind of. I guess.”

Rounding the counter the man knelt down and peered into Chopper’s eyes. The doctor didn’t shy away, he was too distracted to bother being bashful.

“A drink?” the man asked.

Chopper didn’t drink. Not because he didn’t understand the concept, but because he was so young and he knew Dr. Kureha would never approve of it. Usopp had tried to get him to drink beer once, and he had thought it tasted like the inside of one of Zoro’s socks… Part of him thought he would never drink, even when he was older… But… today…

“Sure.”

**

The alleyway remained in shadow as the two commanders entangled themselves in each other, slight sounds escaping from them did not carrying far along the rough stone walls. There were no windows into the narrow lane, and no one appeared at either entry. They were alone, and Ace had to admit – with his older lover’s fingers dug under his belt to grasp his buttocks and shoulders driving him roughly against the wall – fuck! How much had he missed this?

“Say you’ll come back with me.” Marco gasped into the Logia’s ear, dredging up the darkness that Ace had been so loath to leave behind so that he could come to Kibo and see his lover.

Ace’s eyes snapped open, and his teeth rattled as he brought them together. Both hands finding their way to Marco’s chest before pushing violently forward, sending the First Division Commander sprawling hard in the snow.

It was a long, terribly long moment that the older man simply stared up at his lover. Ace’s shoulders shaking, freckled face was flushed, eyes closed. “Ace.” Marco scrambled to his feet just as the Logia crumpled. A long peal of pain rippling from his throat as his knees made contact with the wet snow. He allowed himself to be pulled against Marco’s chest, limp and shivering – though not from the cold. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he’d even be alive to see it… Part of him thought that he would deserve that, to just die – right here, right now – the world and his feelings be damned all at once. He was the son of a devil after all.

What would the world care… if he didn’t exist?

**

Tashigi allowed the steam to gather on her skin, condensing into tiny droplets before rolling down onto the warm wet floor. Her knees underneath her, with ankles crossed. The effort required to breathe slowly and evenly was aggravating her, throwing her heartbeat out of time with her thoughts, and she clamped her eyes shut; grinding her teeth together so that she could taste bits of chipped enamel on her tongue. When she did open her eyes she was met with only the stark whiteness of the bath. Silver tap and showerheads held in their brackets on the blank tiled wall. Allowing a shuddering exhale to escape her body, the young female swordsman brought small, calloused hands up to press against her sweating face.

She could see him in her mind: the green haired swordsman – Roronoa Zoro – Leering at her as he swung without effort! Disarming her! and driving a biting blow deep into the stone wall next to her cheek.

Blood boiling with the recollection of their first fight, Tashigi brought two fists down onto the tiled floor. The impact splitting the skin on her left palm, and a trickle of pink blood slipped slowly away from her to be carried down the drain. She watched the blurry line of redness, like a rope to her reality, because without her glasses she was mostly blind… yet another reminder of her own personal weaknesses. The steam pipes whistled and hissed as the small room once again filled with heated atmosphere, and her nostrils flared to take in the wet oxygen.

Conflicting emotions chased themselves through her. Duty-bound as a Marine officer, honor-bound as a swordsman, class-bound as a woman, and now… now she was bound in a new way – here on Kibo Island for Hope’s Carnival – bound by an unspoken, though hardly an unknown, law… A law that bled for tolerance – even in the worst of mortal enemies.

“Roronoa Zoro.”

**

A metal bell chimed as a target fell, the wooden dummy that had a bull’s-eye where its face should have been.

“Good shot.”

“Aye!” Usopp reached into his bag for another handful of buckshot, huffing for the cold. He was surprised his hands were not shaking more for the cold – but then, he could not have been more comfortable in this circumstance – out shooting with his father.

“Try that elevated shot there, just to the left of that tree – see it?”

Usopp focused on his target almost twenty meters away up near the top of a tree out in the snowy field. It was a side angle, and there was an easy chance for his metal pellets to be deflected…

*Ping!

“Impressive.” Yasopp ruffled his son’s bandana covered hair before marking down another hit on a score card.

“So – is this what the contest will be like?” Usopp asked, searching for another targeted dummy. “Stationary hits?”

Yasopp chuckled. “Hardly. This is Kibo, after all.” At the look of confusion in Usopp’s lifted eyebrow, Yasopp slid the catch of his side-holster to glide a polished pistol free. “We’re paired up for the Contest of Targets, if you remember?”

“Aye.” Usopp leaned up against the partition that separated them from the shooting field, watching as his father took careful aim.

“We are in a contest together, and everyone is a target.” Pulling back the trigger, a puff of white smoke vented out the back of the small firearm. A cylindrical metal shot exiting at rapid speed from the muzzle and spiraling towards its goal. Usopp watched its wake, because he had long ago trained his eye to follow shots of that speed – honestly, his own were much faster.

Some sixteen meters from where they stood one of the wooden dummies folded in on itself and fell into the snow with a *thumph. “So you’ll be shooting at me.” The Strawhat sniper clarified.

“Something like that.” Yasopp said, spinning the chamber of his pistol and replacing the spent shot. “Does that frighten you?”

“Of course it does.” Usopp huffed, stretching out his arms and shoulders.

Yasopp’s blonde dreadlocks drifted with the turn of his head. “You going to run?”

Laughter. Wild, free laughter. He had learned it from Luffy – to laugh in the face of fear. He wondered when it had finally become common for him to do it himself. “Not in your life, Pops!”

**

“Yohooo!!!”

Luffy spent the majority of the afternoon dragging Zoro from one carnival ride to another. Rides that looped up and spun them around in little cages, rides that had them strapped into seats and flung up into the air, rides that twirled them until they had their backs held to the side of a wheel through centrifugal force. The swordsman had actually puked after the last one, something called the “Grand Hope”. They had been essentially strapped into a little cart which climbed up to about fifty meters on a sturdy track, hovered there for a little while, and then rocketed them back to the earth faster than Zoro could blink – bobbing and twisting and jerking all the way down. It had been over in a matter of thirty seconds, but left him gasping into the snow just outside the confines of the festival fence.

“Oi, is Zoro okay?” Luffy rubbed consoling circles into his first mate’s lower back as the older man vomited up everything that he had managed to eat that day – even breakfast.

“Yea, Luffy,” Zoro gasped. “Just give me…” another noisy bout of expulsion left his shoulder muscles in knots, his captain pulling the swordsman against his own stomach to keep him from falling over.

“Com’mon.” Luffy helped the older man to his feet once he was done coughing.

Zoro allowed himself to be steered inside one of the tall buildings that stood around the yard. There were many, some with signs advertising food and drink, others with stages for music and dancing girls with rich red skirts that fanned out in front of them – shells held between their fingers that clicked in rhythmic timing with their twisting and spinning grace. Luffy, weather trying to be courteous to his swordsman’s still-delicate stomach, or simply by luck, chose a rather dimly lit entryway where a queue had developed. The sign over the top read “The Magician: Curio”.

After a short wait in line, Luffy and Zoro were shown to a two person table where drinks were brought to them, beer for Luffy and sake for Zoro. The alcohol slipping down his throat and hitting his empty stomach spun his head a little, but as Luffy reached across the table to take his hand, worrying his tanned skin with his rubbery thumb almost subconsciously, Zoro decided the day wasn’t turning out so bad…

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

The already weak lighting dimmed further, blue shadows crawling at every corner of the room, and the waiters ghosted passed with quiet steps. Zoro felt the squeeze of Luffy’s fingers in excitement as a rather portly man wearing a shimmery red mantle appeared on stage. He was a bald man with a hooked nose just over a tuft of golden blond mustache, which he stoked several times before quirking a shockingly orange eye towards the crowd.

“I am Curio.” Said the man mysteriously, one hand catching the side of his red cape and flinging it back to expose his rounded backside where a watch chain dangled, catching glare from the spotlight. “What I am about to show you may shock you, may dazzle you, may mark you!”

Luffy’s knees were jumping, eyes fixed on the brightly lit stage. Zoro took another drink of warm sake with his free hand.

“So sit back, relax, and BEHOLD!” with a backwards wave of his hand, Curio produced a flash like lit gunpowder, and several white snowbirds noisily pushed themselves up towards the ceiling, passing over the gasping and pointing crowd before disappearing down the hallway and outside air.

**

Chopper set down his tiny glass for the fourth time. Whiskey… That was what the man called this stuff? The little reindeer wobbled a little on his stool, trying to remember what he was doing there.

“You in town for the Carnival?” asked the barman, a jovial fellow wearing black tails.

“Eh?” the Zoan blinked.

“Hope’s Carnival.” The barman repeated, dragging the bottle discreetly away from his patron. “Man, but you are a light-weight. I thought you said you’re a pirate?”

“I am a pirate!” Chopper’s fighting to keep his eyes open now. “I am T-tony Tooony Chaw – Chaw ph-pher! Hic! I’m a doctor!”

The barman put his elbow down on the bar, watching the little Zoan weave back and forth in front of him. “Well, Tony.” He said, smirking. “You’ll be wanting to sleep a little of this off. There’s a room upstairs if you’d like. Think you can get there on your own?”

“Don’t need sleep.” Chopper melted out of the bar stool, landing on unsteady hooves as he made his way towards the opposite end of the establishment.

Watching his progress, the barkeep shook his head. It wasn’t his business if some pirate wanted to wander around the Main Fair plastered – he just served the beer after all.

**

Nami and Vivi walked arm in arm. Wrapped up in scarves and heavy coats and boots they pushed their way through the snow on the north-eastern district of the city. They had spent the morning in a drudgery of conversation, Igaram insisting that Nami study the complex air currents that surrounded and crossed over Kibo in preparation for the contest. The Strawhat navigator might have been a little more concerned if she had not dealt with these kinds of complicated currents every single day. Vivi had seen the redhead’s eyes glass over after about half an hour, and had seized upon the first opportunity to escape Alabasta’s Captain of the Guard as delicately as possible.

“Shopping!” Nami stretched her arms up over her head. “Thank you, Vivi!”

The two women almost skipped down the street together, peering into the many shop windows until they were too cold to go on. Vivi introduced Nami to an infamous coffee house near the North Wall of the city, and they sat near the window to warm up.

“What is that?” Nami asked, peering up towards what looked like a heavily reinforced stone wall. There were several stairways cut into the side of it, and a wide elevator capable of lifting hundreds was being oiled and swept of snow.

“The rail-line.” The princess says, sipping at her spiced coffee. “Papa told me that Kibo connects the different battlegrounds by way of a massive rail system, moving contestants all over the island. The entrance is at the top of that wall, it’s called Hope’s Wall.”

“Why all the way up there?” Nami mused, leaning closer to the window to peer upward. Because of the dense snow clouds and fog, she couldn’t even see the top, just a jut of stone that seemed to go on forever.

The blue haired princess folded her hands around her cup, a shadow flitting across her eyes. “This is my first year to Hope’s Carnival.” She told Nami, and the redhead turned eyes onto her friend. “Everybody who’s been here before keeps talking about things they’ve seen on the other side of that wall. They don’t say much…. Just that… well…”

“What?” Nami asks, tilting her head back to tip a mouthful of warm tea down her throat. “Don’t be so maudlin, Vivi!” she giggled. “This is a carnival, after all!”

Finishing her tea, Nami rose and took both the princess’ hands, spinning the blue haired girl until she cracked a smile and finally laughed. That was what Nami wanted to see! Vivi laughing! Vivi back at her side like they had been for so many months before. Running out into the street Nami felt the beli in her purse clamoring to be spent. And she had a few ideas of what she wanted to buy first.

 

### Moving On

### ~~~~*~~~~

Trafalgar Law leaned elbows on the cold metal railing of his balcony. Again out in the cold to contemplate his next move. Between his thumb and index finger he rolled the perfectly formed Rumble Ball that Chopper had given him. He had given him three, in fact – with the strict warning against overdose. The little Zoan had been pretty vague on the subject, Law had thought, not indicating death from overdose, but rather some other effect that would be somehow… worse?

A deep sigh flowed up from Law’s chest as he returned the little capsule to his pocket. His contest would be in two days, the third day of Hope’s Carnival. His blue ticket resided in another pocket on his person. He wondered what it would be… but that only made him grin, pointed canine trilling a little for the cold wind. A random contest: that’s what he’d been told. Knowing very little about Kibo, random seemed the most exciting. The Heart Captain’s fingers balled up into a fist, the word ‘death’ spelled out – tattooed on his knuckles.

Oh! How he was looking forward to this! This opportunity *not to be bored.

**

Shanks had his hand halfway through his red hair before his shoulder muscles tensed and his fingers went numb. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Monkey D Dragon set down his sake cup, the faint clatter of porcelain on wood sounding far too loud in the little room. Benn had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall near the door behind the Revolutionary Leader, cigarillo having gone out and in danger of falling from his suddenly slacked and paled lips.

“He is my brother.” Sabo repeated into the quiet. The blonde’s eyes were closed, a defeated slump in his shoulders. He was relieved – in a way – to be expounding this information to someone, someone other than Dragon, who he had told long ago. It was the very night he had been rescued by Dragon’s crew, in fact, that Sabo had voiced his connection to Ace and to Luffy, but after that day he hadn’t dared to tell a soul – for many reasons.

There was a knock on the hotel room door that made Benn’s eye twitch. He tossed the half-smoked stump of his cigarillo into an ash tray before reaching for the nob.

Dracule Mihawk stood in the brightly lit hallway.

“What the hell do you want now?” The dark haired first mate growled as the Shichibukai’s lips curled downwards in a scowl of deep-deep loathing.

“Is he awake now?”

“This isn’t a good time.”

Hawkeye scoffed, pushing two thin but strong fingers into Benn’s chest as he made his way into the room. “There will be no ‘good times’ until the end of the carnival, simpleton.” He hissed. “Dragon.” Mihawk inclined his pointed chin in the revolutionary’s direction. “Damn Red-head.” Nodding also to Shanks, the yellow-eyed man swept imperiously to the far side of the table, crossing his arms as he watched every face. His open glare sank around the table, daring them to continue their conversation.

Sabo picked up his black silk top hat from the table and secured it on his head. “Shanks.” He muttered, getting himself to his feet.

“O-oi!” the Yonko’s fist came down, rattling the sake bottle and cups beside it. “What do you expect me to do? Knowing… knowing this?”

“Whatever you want.” Sabo’s fingers twitched as he pulled on a set of thick beryl gloves and sucked at one broken front tooth.

Dragon shook his head without a word, also rising. He graced both Shanks and Benn with a wide, toothy grin, brown eyes glittering, before following his pupil from the room.

The door snapped closed, leaving the three men in an eerie silence.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Mihawk said, though he didn’t sound all that sorry. The thin man swept towards the table, settling in the chair that Sabo had vacated. Benn lowered himself into the other as the Shichibukai reached across the Adam wood table for the sake, and poured three glasses. “What did that little revolutionary pipsqueak want?” he asked, tipping a measure of burning liquor down his throat. Jozu had kept the swordsman well supplied all morning, but he would not dismiss the opportunity for further alcohol.

“What’s it to you?” Benn asked, smacking his lips before reaching for the neck of the bottle. He didn’t usually drink during the day, but… today had already turned for the complicated side.

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. “Hope’s Gem.” He breathed out, changing the subject abruptly. “You will be there for the removal and relocation tonight, Shanks?”

The Red Hair Captain clutched at the stump of his left arm. Eyes wide, unseeing, even as he stared at the undrunk sake in front of him. He seemed hardly to hear the other swordsman.

Hawkeye slammed his fist onto the table, disturbing the little cup and spilling its contents everywhere. “Get yourself together!” Hissed the warlord. “Sengoku will be arriving before tonight’s ceremony, and he’s bringing Yamakaji, Momonga and Doberman with him.”

“It’s too late for further contestants.” Benn sighed, digging the fingers of his left hand into his eyes. “What does that fool want?”

“I do not know.” Mihawk tipped back a second glass of sake, his eyes on Shanks. “But whatever he wants, I think it should be clear to us…”

Shanks’ eyes lifted; the deeps of them filled with a still low – but kindled – essence of fire. The fractured tear-of-a-scar that traversed the length of the left side of his face stretched and darkened. Hawkeye could feel it now, the ire of Yonko Shanks’ Haki-infused anger.

Mihawk chuckled, leaning across the table to pour the captain a fresh measure of sake, and when he leaned back in his chair, taking up his own cup, he grinned; a wide sneer of a grin that displayed several white pointed teeth. “Sengoku has never before set foot on Kibo.”

**

Just north of the ‘cheap hotel’ where the Strawhats had taken up rooms for their stay was the museum that Robin and Nami had visited on that very first day. It was the central building for an array of little buttresses. In these were many shops selling antiques and books and other second hand items that islands tended to accumulate from traveling sailors. All the islands on the Grand Line seemed to have an entire district dedicated to these curiosities, though Kibo seemed to have an ulterior motive – some deeper meaning behind what just appeared in their little shop windows festooned with twinkling lights and bright baubles.

“Nico Robin?” A woman dressed in black furs and red wool asked as the historian bent to pull an old tome from one of the lower shelves in the shop.

“Yes?” Straitening up with the worn leather book in her hands, Robin observed the woman. She was middle aged, with a bit of grey in her hair and several wrinkles about her eyes.

“I thought that it was you.” The woman breathed, a tired looking smile stretching her face. “You are one of the Strawhat Pirates, aren’t you?”

“I am, I joined them just recently in fact… have we met?”

“No.” the woman said gently. “But I knew your mother, Olivia.”

Robin dropped the book she was holding, the spine splitting as it hit the ground and causing thick pages to separate and slip around the two women’s feet like water. The historian seemed not to notice. “M-my mother?” she gasped.

The woman in red and black nodded, her pale gold eyes smiling to match pink lips. “She was a great woman, Nico Olivia. She competed here on Kibo thirty one years ago, her first voyage to sea, if I recall her saying.”

Robin’s ears rang, heart laboring behind aching ribs. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream or just sit down and never move again. Her mother had come to Kibo?

“I can tell you more, if you would like?” the woman asked, extending her hand. “My name is Ruisha, I am a librarian.”

Without thinking twice, the dark haired Strawhat historian shook Ruisha’s hand, half of her seeming to have fallen away, and she was lost in a sea of strangeness that was so familiar and close to home that she felt truly unsafe. It had not been enough, the short time she had spent in relative safety on board the Merry with everyone, to feel that it would last. Soon she would have to run away again, and leave everyone behind.

Nico Robin shook herself violently. “Yes, please.” She said, she almost begged. “Tell me more.”

**

Luffy and Zoro had managed not only to be impressed by the marvelous slight-of-hand wonders of Curio’s show, but also somehow had made their way around the back of the table until their chairs were side-by-side, and their hands wound up together. It was dark in the audience area, and it provided an element of privacy which Zoro appreciated as he wrapped their ankles together.

“Ooooh!” the crowd breathed as one being, marveled into shocked amazement as the magician produced an array of brightly colored dresses seemingly out of thin air, which in moments were filled with dancing women with bright, perfect smiles. The women bowed, one of them, a slender figure dressed in yellow bent to place a theatrical kiss to the bald magician’s cheek before the man gave an obliging bow towards the crowd amid polite applause.

Zoro’s grip morphed into a soft petting motion when Luffy nuzzled into his neck, the captain’s breath ghosting under his collar and over the ludicrously tight red shirt that he had on underneath his coat. The rubber man’s hand pushed up the fabric, allowing him to press one palm over Zoro’s abdomen.

The sensation spun the swordsman’s head, not to mention other places.

“If I might ask for an assistant from the audience?” Curio bowed pointedly at the crowed, and a few lights flickered on, casting a soft rosy light over everyone.

“This guy!”

Sniggers and laughter echoed up from the behind, and Zoro turned a lazy eye over his shoulder, seeing Marco and Ace standing at the bar on the far side of the room. He had not known they had come into the show with them, and grinned when Marco pushed at Ace’s lower back, urging him towards the raised stage.

Luffy watched as his older brother gained the stairs, helped along by a few bar tenders and waiters, and Marco the Phoenix himself.

“I can assure you, it will be… painless.” Curio assured the Logia, tapping his fingers together as he leered at the crowd in a deviously hungry way. Marco belted out a laugh at the magician’s comment while his companion gave him a last imploring look to pull him back down off the dais.

Marco stood to the side of the stage, fingers interlaced at the back of his head as Ace was guided into a tall box by one of Curio’s lovely assistants. The Logia’s exasperated expression was caught by his lover before two more assistants swiftly closed him inside, securing the lid with nails and heavy chains.

“The human body.” Curio announced, the lights flashing between reds and blues. The man swept a silken sheet off of a table that had been wheeled onto stage, revealing an array of swords and daggers, metal spikes and sharp toothed saws. “Is a fragile, delicate thing.”

Zoro felt a tremor in the hand Luffy held just over his belly, the small circles that he had been enjoying his captain drawing continued, but became more erratic and slow. “Oi, Sencho…”

“Skin… Blood… Muscle tissue… Bone… all the things that make up our physicality – can be so breakable.” Without preamble Curio lifted a spiked metal rod and thrust it unceremoniously into the box in which Ace had been sealed.

The circles on Zoro’s stomach stopped, Luffy’s brown eyes widening.

“Weakness and pain.” A shimmering katana slipped into the box, near where Ace’s shoulders would be, and when the pointed tip appeared on the other side it was caked with red.

Luffy shivered, watching with steadily widening eyes as Curio stepped lightly back to the table.

“Here at Hope’s Carnival, the weak are unworthy.” He said, light bouncing off his bald head. Curio lifted one of the wide saws with deep serrated teeth. He swung back the heavy weapon before driving it into the side of the box, halfway through its bulk until it became lodged into… something…

“ACE!”

Marco’s giggling expression turned towards the crowd, changing in an instant to shock. Monkey D Luffy had thrown himself forward over his and Zoro’s table, knocking over chairs and other spectators as his arms stretched out to grab the ledge of the dais. A truly harried expression drew the younger man’s features together, his lips stretched in a silent scream, and there were… Marco blinked. Was he crying?

“Oi, Luffy!” Zoro’s outstretched hand barely missed grabbing hold of the back of his captain’s coat before the younger man shot forward, propelled by his unique rubber musculature.

The table on stage and its burden of weapons went flying in every direction as Luffy’s shoulder made contact, the young captain smacking into the wall behind the stage with a sickening sound of crumbling rock. Curio looked about, unsure what had just happened. Several people in the crowd were pointing at Luffy now, whispering behind their hands. His straw hat was infamous, and Zoro was sure he heard Luffy’s full name muttered around the room like a spell.

“Ace… Ace….” Muttering at no one, the dark haired captain slips and slides on unsteady legs as he extracts himself from the curtains. Chunks of broken stone and plaster fall to the ground at the back of the stage. Curio stood back, bewildered under the glare of the young man skirting past him to rip and tear at the metal chains and nails stuck into the tall box that contained his brother.

“Oi, Mugiwara.” Marco had made his way up onto the stage, attempting to pry the rubber man’s hands from the box. “It’s a show, yoi… it’s just a show, calm down.”

Luffy pushed the older man aside, ripping and tearing until his fingers bled it was more than clear that he had tears streaming down his face. Marco’s back collided with a warm body. Turning to see, he discovered that Zoro had come onto the stage himself, and was simply standing nearby, watching his captain dismantle the magician’s set pieces. Curio seemed to know it was best not to become involved, and motioned for his female assistants to move back from the distraught young captain.

Landing a heavy fist into the side of the box, Luffy managed to effectively tear it in half, spikes and swords clattering to the floor.

For maybe ten long, agonizing seconds the Strawhat captain stared at the vacant space where he was sure he’d seen his older brother escorted and then sealed in. “Ace.” He breathed again, and Zoro shuddered to hear the cracking pain in it.

“Luffy!” Portgus D Ace rounded the curtains, back onto the audience floor, making for the stairs at Marco and Zoro’s shoulder. “Oi, Luffy!”

Numb, trembling, eyes stinging with hot tears that felt like acid against his skin… Luffy turned his face towards the sound of his brother’s voice. He saw him standing there in the half blinding lights that faced the stage, but that he had not been aware of until that very moment. Blood dripped from Luffy’s twitching fingers, slapping onto the stage floor with an audible drip. Everyone was quiet… the waiters and the patrons, Curio and his stage hands… everyone.

Zoro’s fingers tracked across Wado’s hilt, the weave warm under his calloused pads. He swallowed hard as he exchanged a look with the First Division Commander at his elbow. Marco blinked before replying with a nod. His arms and back alighted with a pair of magnificent cerulean- feathered wings that stretched out on either side of him like some ethereal angel, directing the attention of everyone in the room. “Drinks on the house!” he announced, “while there will be a brief intermission.”

The barkeep moved with lightning fast reflexes, flicking several switches behind the counter that brought up the lights in the house as well as drawing the curtains across the stage, separating the patrons from the ‘show’.

Luffy gasped. Shallow gulps of air hitting the bottom of his lungs, but not wanting to stay there long. Torn and bleeding fingers rolling and unrolling into fists at his sides. “Ace.” He breathed again.

Curio waved his assistants off stage to the back entrance where Ace had come from himself, and that Zoro could now clearly see – now that he was on the actor’s-side of things.

“Dammit, Luffy.” The Logia closed the distance between himself and his younger brother, gathering handfuls of Luffy’s coat as he pulled him to his chest. “I’m alright.”

Gripping down onto his forearms with each hand, Zoro stood and watched his captain's bleeding hands still at his sides. Ace held Luffy close, kept talking, but the swordsman couldn’t catch what was being said between them, not through the ringing in his own ears. Beyond the brothers, Marco was speaking apologies to Curio, who had both hands held up, shaking his head and muttering some sort of reply.

“Thought Ace was hurt.” Luffy’s thin voice found its way to Zoro, and he listened close. “Thought he was hurt, or dead… just like…”

“Don’t do that!” Ace gave the younger man a violent shake; Luffy's teeth clapping together as he stared wetly up. “I’m not gonna die!”

Marco stared back at those words, and Zoro saw it – fear. For a man like the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates to show fear? What the hell was going on.

“Oi.” the swordsman growled, one hand running up the side of his katana until thumb rested at the tip of Wado’s hilt. “I’ll take him now.”

Ace turned to face the green haired pirate, clearly not thinking much of this suggestion, but the vicious ire on Zoro’s face was enough to melt steel, and he relented possession. Zoro tracked Luffy to him, and two bleeding hands pressed at his back. He didn’t want to talk, not there, not right now, not with Ace and Marco both so close by.

“Ace.” Marco took hold of the Logia’s hand, and Zoro saw the other man squeeze back.

He raised an eyebrow. “You two?”

“Same as you, yoi?” The Phoenix’s smirk reminded Zoro that he had all but stripped his captain right there in the lobby of the hotel that Marco had been checking in to. Of course he would have figured it out.

Sounds of cutlery on plates and the sizzle of fresh meats and clanking bottles reminded the four pirates that they were standing on someone else’s stage, and it was long past time they moved on.

 

### Okay?

### ~~~~*~~~~

Tashigi took as long in the shower as she dared, longer than she had in a while. But she could not hide indoors for the entirety of Hope’s Carnival; she was a Marine, after all, even if she was forbidden to fight with any of the known criminals surrounding her on every side. It was worse than fighting them, she had to ignore them?

“Tashigi.” Smoker’s voice graveled as the doors of her elevator opened and she stepped out.

“Good Morning, Captain Smoker.” She said, still chipped and formal, still angry at her commanding officer.

He could tell, of course. White Hunt Smoker had brought many young marine officers with him to Kibo, his first visit some five years prior. “You are impatient.” The grey haired man scoffed, refusing to meet her eye, a breath of cigar smoke clinging to the tails of his words between them.

Grinding her teeth together, Tashigi held her tongue. Perhaps she should have bitten down on it, the pain could have helped her to ignore the rippling of anger just under her skin. Shigure rattled in her scabbard, the meito fitting for the response of her owner.

Smoker sighed, tilting his head to one side until they could both hear the *crack.

 

Exiting the hotel the two marines said nothing, only listened to the steady crunching of their feet through thick snow and sharp ice. The sun was up, pale white and cheerless while the Main Fair just audible over the wind, north of where they stood. Hope’s Carnival was so near, but also so very far away. Tashigi had been raised on a Summer Island, transferred to her first real assignment, in Loguetown. It was there, on that island in East Blue so close to Reverse Mountain, she had met her stoic commanding officer, the man they refer to as ‘the White Hunt’. She had seen him in combat, the man who had eaten the Moku Moku no Mi. His was a Logia, a man who could become nothing but smoke at his own will. Sometimes Tashigi couldn’t help but begrudge the man for his faults, for his bloody cockiness, even if she never said a word. He would and could lead vast numbers behind him, could almost certainly become an admiral one day, if he would only learn to control his temper.

“Oi,…” Smoker put a hand on Tashigi’s shoulder, halting her some ways down the lane as a group of people existed an establishment onto the main strip of the fair. She could see it in the distance, bright against the snowy darkness, like lit doorway into safety.

Having been brought back to the present, Tashigi wondered how she had missed the amount of noise going on so near to them. Even as she stared at the lights, the voices remained hidden under glass, under ice… They must have already walked ten blocks, and were now in the thick of the Main Fair. Her eyes came up to rest on the figures up ahead. There were four of them, two men with black hair, one with blond, and one with green… Green hair? The hissing sound that escaped Tashigi’s lips was entirely unintentional, but she had not been prepared to see him.

**

“Like this?”

“No, lift your elbow more. Higher… higher, there, you got it.”

The slip and release of Usopp’s slingshot fell dead on the frigid breeze as both pirate snipers watched the small chunk of flint ignite in midair, arching slightly upwards, but in a direct trail towards another target between two trees with fluffy branches. A resounding *thunk, and an explosion of red tongues signaled to them that the shot had landed.

Yasopp smiled as he added the last of his son’s scores, tallying his own on the other side of the page as they walked back towards civilization.

“Did you beat me?” Usopp asked, walking with his head tipped back to watch snow falling.

“Don’t be impatient.” Yasopp clicked his tongue, erasing a mark before adding it again.

“I’m not impatient!” The Strawhat sniper balled up his fists, long nose pointed at his father. “You should spend a day with my captain! I’m a friggin’ saint!”

Yasopp laughed openly, stumbling a little for the ice. “A pirate saint?” he gasped, “Ah! That’ll be the day.”

**

Tashigi’s eyes narrowed as she stood silently on the snowy ground. Her ears ringing like raid sirens, echoing inside her head. One hand wrapped around the hilt of her meito, forest-green sash woven in and out of the hilt in a weave she learned… Oh! so very long ago. So long she could hardly remember it.

It was without any outward thoughts that the marine swordswoman decided to move forward, a pawn’s first move in a game of chess.

**

“Oi, shitty eggplant! What’s taking you so long?”

Zeff was annoyed, to say the least, when Sanji had to detour back to the Going Merry for his knives. There could be no substitutions between a chef's knives, and if Sanji was going to complete in a test of cooking? He needed *his knives.

“Quit your bellyaching, old fart.” The Strawhat cook swung one leg over the wall of the ship, Merry’s planking iced over and shiny, like she were encased in crystal. His knives tucked safely into the crook of his arm, along with a mandatory packs of cigarettes, rolled from tobacco he’d gotten from sky island. It was freezing out here over the sea, but Sanji suddenly felt warmer, up on Merry’s deck; so instead of hurrying down the ladder he leaned against the side, imagining Conis’ pale features, and upon the first time he ever saw her, playing the harp on a sea of clouds.

Zeff tapped his wooden leg on the peer, the white light of Kibo’s sun just over his shoulder. “You leave your knives casually behind when you come to every island?” the old cook asked, sucking at his chapped lips.

“Only when I know I won’t be cooking.” Sanji muttered, chewing the filter of his cigarette. “How was I supposed to know I’d be suckered into entering some contest?”

“Be grateful, brat.”

“Shitty old fart.”

“Lil' Eggplant.”

“Oi! Stop calling me that!”

**

Marco’s wrapped one arm securely around Ace’s hip, guiding the younger man towards the fair and away from his brother. Zoro watched them go, the two Whitebeard Commanders. Marco the Phoenix, and Fist Fire Ace… Marco had to be old, he had to be! Zoro thought. It wasn’t anything about weakness either, far from it; it was the man’s eyes. Like chipped grey steel or cold icy blue? They were deep, like the pools of the ocean that sometimes stared back up black when Zoro chanced to look over the side of the Merry at just the right time. His eyes were deep wells, and a long- long memory.

That made Marco old.

“Luffy.” Zoro’s hand went to his captain's shoulder, as they stood there watching Ace go. Marco leading his lover away even as Ace keep peering back wildly; the older brother, always so far away… “Luffy, look at me.” Zoro dug his freezing fingers into the back of Luffy’s coat, shaking his attention onto him. “Oi.”

“Zoro.” Luffy whispered. It was so hard to hear.

Zoro could hear the music being played around them, just on the edge of the Main Fair. The gentle hum of the crowd was just on the cusp of soothing. Chance lent him a moment of peace with his captain, but he knew it wouldn’t last… “Oi.”

Luffy’s brown eyes were open, wide. Zoro had yet to see him blink properly. “Ace is okay.”

Zoro took just a moment to decide if this was a question or a statement, until. “Yea, your brother is okay.”

“Zoro’s okay.” Luffy breaths, his eyes trailing over his first mate, as if he had come alive, except for his smile. Because there wasn't one. Zoro shivered under the gaze of his captain, his captain serious, and still, quiet. It was a side of Luffy, and the first mate knows that well. It had been with that ‘side’ that Strawhat Captain, Monkey D Luffy, hundred-million-beli-head from East Blue convinced the then Marine-incarcerated Pirate Hunter, Roronoa Zoro to turn a fork in his path.

 

“Roronoa Zoro.”

Zoro’s eyes tracked towards the sound of her voice, a voice he already knew. Luffy’s took no notice of the marine, continuing to search his first mate, pushing up sleeves to check bandages. For Luffy, Zoro’s growl of ‘Not now.’ Was unable to register into his brain.

Tashigi’s hands ached for the pressure she exerted on her meito’s pommel. Coming to a halt she saw the Wanted Strawhat Captain: Monkey D Luffy, bounty of one-hundred million. She owed him for what happened in the backstreets of Alburna. *Had owed him. It had been Tashigi who called off the pursuit that had followed them inland from Nonohana. Luffy did not appear to have recognized Tashigi. He had never really ever met her, she wasn’t bothering him right now. “Now.”

Zoro’s already turned away, both hands on Luffy’s shoulders, but it doesn’t look promising that he will actually say anything more. He touches the bruises along his swordsman's jaw.

“Now, Roronoa!” the metallic sound of a sword being drawn falls on Zoro’s ears long before the sword is drawn. The following rasp of metal on metal honestly surprised him. Luffy didn’t even flinch, but Zoro wasn’t sure his captain even knew where he was anymore.

“Fighting is prohibited on Kibo, outside designated contests.” Sneered words drifted between two swordsmasters. Tashigi’s eyes fixed on her mark, on Zoro… and now she berated herself for it. She should have kept *everything in sight. She was seeing red, had to have been, otherwise it might have dawned on her sooner, that the swordsman Dracule Mihawk was the man blocking her sword.

Mihawk observed the young Marine for a moment, allowing her to retreat. Dracule’s gold eyes noticed how hers never left the green hair of her target. How she was utterly fixated, and far outside her, undisciplined, control. It had provided his black meito every opportunity to slip between them.

“Tashigi.” Smoker snapped over her shoulder and she appeared to jump, sheathing Shigure and backing to her commanding officer’s shoulder, as a good soldier does.

Mihawk secured his meito, “Smoker.”

“Dracule.” Smoker’s fingers clamp down around the leather gloves his friend always seems to wear these days.

Tashigi’s palms twitched as she held them behind her back. Red Hair Shanks stood not far away, from the same direction Mihawk had come, the six of them occupying an odd alley that was mercifully spared onlookers.

“Do we have a problem?” Shanks asked, his voice drifting on the air like a glass whisper.

Luffy looked at him.

“No. We have no problem.” Zoro told Shanks, “There is no issue here.” Zoro imparted upon Smoker, Tashigi at the man’s side like a statue.

Mihawk shook his head as Zoro gathered his captain, such as he was, and the two of them turned for the Main Fair, disappearing in amongst the masses of lights and color and people. There would be no pursuing them.

**

Tashigi trembled at the interruption, at the interference of this other swordsman, she didn’t care if he was a shichibukai. “You had no right.” Gurgled out of her constricted throat, a low whine of pain as blood returned painfully to her right palm. “You had no right!”

“He has every right.” Shanks says, and his voice speaks volumes in the cold, so much more than it ever has at sea, or even between walls of stone. “Kibo does not allow contestants to fight without a contract.”

“I tried, but he refused.”

“Try harder.” Mihawk sneered.

Smoker turned away, relighting cigars with a few matches, their aroma pungent on the air. “You really are just going to stand back, not even give them a reason to compete?” The Marine asked Dracule. “Here to watch.” He sneered at the small man. Tashigi felt a swell of pride, for her commanding officer’s… temper.

Shanks chuckled in the snow, observing Zoro leading Luffy away. The Yonko wondered if he had seen right, Luffy’s first mate had nodded to him?

“What was that?” Mihawk’s eyes narrowed.

“Roronoa Zoro is your prodigy, they say.” Smoker observed, watching a few fireworks rise on the air, golden tails of spiraled vines multiplying over the city, Hope’s Fireworks. “My subordinate wants his head.”

Tashigi’s grip returned to her meito.

Shanks said nothing, but leaned against the nearest wall and waited. Old Hawky didn’t need his help.

“This girl, believes she is a match for Roronoa?” Mihawk confirmed of Smoker, both piercing yellow eyes now on the woman behind her captain. It was cold, and the grey light was never the best, but Dracule prided himself on seeing power, strength, haki, all the various things he typically looked for in the strong. This woman, though brimming with potential, was no match for Roronoa Zoro. “You cannot beat him as you are.”

It may have been cold, but Tashigi was too warm to feel it, she might burst into flames.

“Then you fight her.” The smoke-smoke man suggested.

“You cannot be serious.”

“It is allowed.” Smoker said, lips curling upwards into a grin. “So how about it, Shanks!” he called to the Red Hair Captain.

“Eh?” replied the Yonko, his one arm crossed over his abdomen as he watched the residents at the Main Fair some yards away.

“My Tashigi, to compete against the Mighty Dracule Mihawk.”

Shanks looked the contestants up and down, “Tashigi and Hawky.” He repeated. “Sure.”

“Shanks!” Mihawk’s eyes flew wide at Shanks’ agreement, attuned to the first magnetic link crashing down on the shichibukai’s psyche.

“When?” Smoker asked.

Hawkeye considered his options. He already had to fight, there was no getting out of it. How many times had he told these idiots that he wasn’t interested in competing this year? The headache that he had momentarily been forgotten at the bottom of a sake bottle was also threating to come back. He and Shanks needed to get across the fair, get into the damn bar for a round. “Tomorrow. Four pm.”

“Roger Tower?” Smoker inquired of the Greatest Swordsman in the World.

Tashigi stepped forward, pulling her meito from her sash. The female Marine had carried Shingure for a long time. She had been fortunate in her rise in the world government, and she wanted more. Everything rested on who was the strongest. She would become the strongest swordsman.

The two swordsmasters tapped the pommels of their weapons to seal the duel, Shanks presenting them each with a black ticket.

**

Sanji and Zeff had considerable difficulty getting back to land from where Merry was moored, in what equated to a mile’s worth of walking on iced over floating docks… by the time the two made it back to the Dock Hotel where Zeff was rooming with Banban - the latter had mysteriously disappeared, which seemed odd to Sanji, but the way the old chef laughed, he didn’t think it was something he need worry about. The first day of Hope’s Carnival was underway, and already – hardly after lunch at all – the already darkling sky was alive with lights and fireworks. Kibo glowed, a radiation of lights from the fair taking place in front of the Roger Hotel that night. All the oldest guests of Kibo, true elite’s, were given rooms there, and the first day of the fair was their gift, or so say the old man.

“We’ll want to be there.” Zeff told Sanji as his peg sank into the snow to knock on a cobble.

“Where’s that?” Sanji asked, his fingers bitten with cold. He had managed to light his cigarette in the wind, a small miracle.

“The Main Fair.” Zeff grunted. He lead Sanji east along the coastline, away from the Carnival.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way then, old man? Don’t tell me you get lost like the moss head.”

“Moss? Just follow along, Little Eggplant, there’s lots to do before Shanks’ speech.”

“Is that what we want to go there for?” Sanji sidestepped a grouping of trashcans, too busy blowing kisses towards a beautiful woman sitting in the dark street. The woman had a long ivory cigarette holder between her teeth, and the folds of fabric that made up her warm gown were elegantly fanned in an arrangement of black; her own luscious skin underneath just as smooth and alluring, but whiter than white.

“Kibo has a heart, Sanji. Remember that.”

 

### Bad For The Heart

### ~~~~*~~~~

Having returned to the Royal Hotel, Nami and Vivi set down their shopping and started to unwrap. Nami had missed shopping with Vivi, and when the woman's father had handed her a hundred-million beli to buy whatever she wanted for the contest!

Both girls squealed as they pulled out new coats for the Carnival.

“It’s cambion fur!” Nami cooed, running fingers over the silky inside lining of a long chestnut-colored coat. She had been guaranteed of its warmth several times over, but she wasn’t sure. Vivi had bought the very same coat, and insisted that Nami have it. Nami would never let something like price get in her way, so now they both have one. Problem solved.

“How steep are the sides of Hope’s Peak?” Nami asks as she and Vivi empty out a bag full of grappler hooks, arranging them on a clipped West Blue harness. All the good hiking stuff came out of West Blue.

“Less than vertical.” Vivi said. “Pell went once, not in the contest or anything, but the wind sheer was too much. He couldn’t fly it, and he couldn’t climb it.

“Birds and storms don’t mix.” Nami giggled, and then she paused. There was a mirror in front of Vivi’s bed, where they were unwrapping all Nami’s shopping, and Nami had just realized it. How, how different she seemed to look from Vivi. She smiled again. “I’m glad he’s alive.”

Vivi stretched her arms out before fiddling with the corner of Nami’s emergency rations. The mountain was no walk in the park. It was going to be hard. A Solitary Climb Contest was always hard.

“I didn’t buy a dress?” Nami’s face fell immediately, looking all around.

Vivi giggled. “We can still buy you a dress, it’s early. How much do you have left?”

Nami turned out her purse, amazed at how easy it was to keep money on her when the rest of the crew weren’t begging to buy things. “Two million.”

“That should do.” Vivi smiled. “Is there anything else we might’ve forgotten?”

**

Ace didn’t feel being in the thick of the carnival, for once, and had wandered all the way across the open courtyard to the Rodger Hotel. He stood there, staring at the expanses of rooms over rooms over rooms. Some had balconies, some didn’t. Bay and French doors looking out from the bottom levels. Ace can see his Old Man, a couple of figures with him in his rooms in the north wing. On the southern side of the hotel there’s a fire escape. It’s Ace’s Fire Escape, really, the Second Division Commander being directly responsible for its installation. The Roger Hotel. Ace could remember Marco leading him here for his first year of Hope’s Carnival. He had barely known the man six months.

“So maudlin.” Marco hands Ace a mug of Spiced Coffee. It burns with pepper extracts and sharp coffee, and the Zoan knows Ace can't get enough of it - Hope's Coffee.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Ace says, noticing the sidelong glance from the blond’s beautiful blue-green eyes.

“He’s fine, yoi.” Marco huffed, settling his back against the partition and pointing with this coffee, “See.”

Ace glances across the open yard just on the fringes of everything. Zoro and Luffy walking along the lane towards the lights and colors consisting of the main fair. There is someone behind them, more than one person. Who? was that Hawkeye? Luffy didn’t make eye contact with his brother, but Ace distinctively saw (he damn near *felt) Zoro’s glace just brush his before being lost completely in the sea of movement and music and everything that was the Main Fair of Hope's Carnival.

“He seems very dangerous.” Marco observes, sipping his own coffee next to Ace.

“What, Zoro?”

“No, not Zoro.” Laughed the blonde man. “Though, to be fair, he’s a little scary too, yoi. I meant Hawky.”

Ace’s eyes wandered around the crowd, but it was pretty useless. Even with one of them having green hair, there’s no chance of seeing them. Hawkeye was standing in the alley where the magic show had been, and there was somebody standing against the wall. It looked like Shanks?

“Oi?” Marco’s calling after Ace as the younger man’s jumped down, making a beeline for the Yonko.

 

When Ace approached, it was to find Hawkeye and Tashigi touching swords. The Logia crossed his arms, shaking his head at the older man. “Just here to watch, eh?”

“I was forced into this contest, brat.” Mihawk said in deathly quiet, three strides quickly closing the gap between himself and Portgas D Ace. “Don’t pretend to know the ways of the sword, Logia.”

Tashigi turned to leave, bowing to Shanks as she goes. The Yonko bowed back; both he and Smoker in silent agreement that this could not have been avoided.

“Did you need something, Ace?” Shanks asks, adjusting the collar on his shirt with his one hand.

“Luffy.”

“What about him?”

“He was here.”

“Yes, just here.”

“Well?”

“Well, now he’s not here.”

Marco’s presence at that moment had probably saved someone some property damage. Ace may have been getting better at controlling his temper since he became one of Whitebeard's officers, but it was always a near thing, and a fire on the first night of the carnival? That was bad luck, and it was not something the First Division Commander was willing to let happen.

“Oi-yoi.” The Phoenix's talons biting down into the flesh of Ace's shoulder, stemming the ebb of Shanks' taunts towards the older brother. Poor drunken fool probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Let’s go Hawky!” Shanks waves, and Ace can already see which bar the two old pirates was aiming for.

“What the hell?!” he shouts after Shanks, the crowd and lights swallowing them, just like his brother and Blackbeard…

“And me.” Marco slides a hand into Ace’s coat, pulling the other man towards him for a long kiss. The snow falling about them catches the lights’ twinkling, strings of little lights suspended on wires over their heads. It looked like stars, and it’s not even time for the banquet yet. Ace can smell the food being made just east of here in Hope’s famous kitchens. His lover lacing the fingers of his free hand with Ace’s, neither of them are wearing gloves, they have them in their pockets, but they don’t need them. Marco warms his coldness on Ace’s warmth, and Ace on Marco’s. “Don’t let me hear you muttering things without remembering me.”

“I can’t help it.” Ace allowed Marco’s press of their bodies, laying his head down on his lover’s shoulder. “When you’re not touching me, I feel like you’re so far away.”

“And when I am touching you?” The phoenix asked, holding firmly to Ace.

“Everything is perfect.”

**

“Oi, Luffy!”

Zoro’s pulling Luffy along, their fingers laced together, the younger man tucked up close to his swordsman's side as they weave and wander through the crowded courtyard. Zoro's not sure about all these people, not one of them an enemy. Every time someone laughed behind him he flinched a little, though there was nothing to be afraid of.

“Oi, Luffy, you gatta snap out of this.”

“Zoro?”

Luffy stumbled, suddenly dizzy, tripping in the process of rounding the corner of a newly erected food stall and falling right on top of his swordsman. Sprawling backward, Zoro sees Benn standing not far away. He's leaning forward on a low bar, pegging off little wooden targets with a pellet gun. Luffy pushes himself up, shaking his head before reaching for his straw hat.

“Excuse me.”

Luffy remains kneeling on the ground, because for some reason he can’t stand up. A little girl's just came up out of the crowd carrying a stuffed duck. She stares at him for a minute, her hair is in pigtails, and the smile on her face is brighter than anything. Luffy smiles back.

“Are you going to be the King someday?” the little girl asks.

Luffy’s vaguely aware of Zoro being helped up by a great hulking shadow, but the little girl in front of him is all that he can see. The carnival sounds, smells of the food, the meat! It's all just vanished.

“Everybody knows you will.” She says, “and Daddy said I can give you this.”

Luffy opened his palm to a small hand that placed an old key. A really-really-really old key. He stared at it, oddly enough it was making him even more dizzy. The little girl giggled again before running off between the multitudes of legs and fanned skirts. Every smell and sound of Hope's Carnival came flooding back into him, and Luffy’s fingers closed around the metallic object. He knew what this was, this feeling. He knew. But this was just too good to pass up!

“What’s the matter with you, Luffy? Up you get.” Benn Beckman lifted the Strawhat captain easily, standing him up., but Luffy's legs gave a dangerous wobble that snaps him like a rubber whip. The little key slipped from his fingers, and Zoro caught it before it hit the ground.

“What’s this?” Zoro asks, turning it over and over.

“Gatta, keep it.” Luffy gasps.

“Gatta not touch it.” Benn says, helping Luffy stay upright. “There were a rash of keys made that had trace amounts of Sea Stone in them. Used to be big fun to pass them around the contestants, wait for someone to get killed.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“Gatta… Keep. It.” Luffy breathed out. He put a hand on Zoro's shoulder to hold himself upright, eyes closed and he just breathed.

“Aye, Sencho.” Zoro shoved the key into the pocket of his hamaraki and zipping his coat all the way up. Was it getting colder? “Know anything else about these keys?” He asked Benn.

The other man leaned against the back of the stall Luffy had caught his foot on, lighting a cigarillo in the chill air.

“Apart from ghost stories and rumors, not all that much.”

Zoro helped Luffy to the side of the path, out of the way and between the two stalls. Luffy sat at Zoro’s feet, his first mate letting him use him for support until he can stand again.

Benn watched the little children running past with sparklers in their hands and ribbons in their hair. Little groups of young pirates with wooden swords and telescopes. Sisters chased after little brothers, and then someone shouts and laughs, and it all begins again.

“ ‘Keys’ was Roger’s favorite game.” Benn breathes out, along with a plume of yellow smoke. Luffy raises his eyes, it’s getting easier for him to breathe. The dark haired first mate took another drag. “Shanks outlawed the event that they called ‘Keys’ as soon as he took his name as Owner of Kibo.”

“Why’d he want the event outlawed?” Zoro asked.

“The death toll. In the years of Roger’s ‘Key Games’ there were over a thousand dead. It was the deadliest game on Kibo-”

“Is.” Luffy said, pushing himself upright while accepting Zoro’s hand to get steady himself. “So 'Keys' is the Pirate King’s favorite game?” he asked Benn, eyes suddenly alight and alive, the same vibrant look of happiness this kid had then - more than a decade ago in that East Blue bar.

“Let me see the key again?”

“You can’t touch it, idiot!”

“Just let me see it!”

“It’s safe, you don’t need to see it!”

“Where’d~ Zo~ro~ hide~ it~~”

Benn chuckled as Luffy ‘searched’ for the key Zoro had tucked into that green hamaraki of his. Well, there was less ‘looking for a key’ and more ‘oh, you’re really ticklish there, how about here?’

“Benn, lad!” A large man called from the path just across from where the Red Hair Pirates' first mate was having his smoke. He had hailed, and began his way over between sets of shoulders just as Zoro had finally gotten Luffy to stop pawing about inside his coat. Zoro was curious as to why Benn looked so uncomfortable about the man’s approach, glancing down at Luffy as if… what?

“Dragon.” Benn reached out and shook the giant fist of Revolutionary Leader, Monkey D Dragon with both hands. “Good to see you.”

Dragon accepted the cigarillo offered by Benn Beckman, shuffling to lean against the side of the stall. “This isn’t Banban’s is it?” He asked, knocking on the hardwood backing as he took in Zoro’s green hair and three piercings. Spectacular bruise forming the length of the right side of his face, but that was already fading, be gone in a day. It took Dragon a further moment to recognize Luffy, facing away from him with his hands inside Zoro’s coat. He took a long drag off the tobacco wrapped in dark leaves. “Old shit cook.”

“No.” Benn said, tapping his hand on the stall wall. “Everybody in this row’ll let me smoke, so they’ll let you smoke too, my friend.”

The laughter between these two was so natural, and so friendly that Zoro was struck dumb. Luffy just stared. He knew this man! He didn’t know from where. Benn too, looked so different from before, and after everything he was still so much smaller than them! Still looking up at Benn from that stool in Makino's bar.

“Don’t lie for me, Beckman.” Dragon said, catching his breath. “It’s bad for the heart, to laugh with devils.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dragon.”

 

### Festivities

### ~~~~*~~~~

Swirls of red and gold light punched at the back of Shanks’ eyes, hardly open as they were. The fingers of the Yonko’s right hand clutched around the handle of a tall tankard in front of him. Hot liquor held on his tongue to give him time to appreciate the sharp-but-bitter sweetness of the whiskey. Mihawk sat across from him, the swordsman’s feathered hat sitting on the tabletop between them.

“Doberman will start a war on Kibo, given half a chance.” Mihawk grouses, tipping his mug over. A few solitary drops hit the wooden surface of their table, and he frowns. “It wasn’t two months ago he hung up an entire crew of North Blue rookies. Fifty men and a couple women… a handful of children… They say they’re still there, rotting in the sun on the Red Line.”

Rumor of Vice Admiral Doberman were not new to the redheaded captain, and he shuddered at his own memories of the man. A man who served up such severe ‘justice’ that no one was exempt. You were either a pirate, or you were a marine. Civilians didn’t seem to have a classification for him. They were just ‘collateral’. “Another round!” Shanks called to the barkeep, upending the remainder of his own whiskey down his throat and smacking his lips.

Mihawk slumps dizzily against the back of the bench seat, letting the light chatter and hum of the locals wash over him. He’s already numb in the face from alcohol, and half of him knows he shouldn’t have any more… except for the fact that it is Shanks sitting across from him – the shit-eating red-headed fuck having agreed to offer up his skin in a contest with a goddamn child!

He needed another drink.

“Don’t worry about Doberman.” Shanks slurred, pushing his now-empty tankard to the edge of the table. “Sengoku will keep him in line. Even he’s not so foolish as to think he could possibly take on Kibo.”

Both yellow eyes with their double-black pupils fell onto Shanks' alcohol-flushed cheeks. “You seem awfully confident about that, Brat.” The greatest swordsman in the world said, accepting the next drink that the waitress had brought them. Her pale hands wrapping around their empty glasses. She smiled before curtsying and rushing away again. “Damn Buda doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

“How’d you find out he was coming, anyway?” Shanks grinned, licking his lips as a slip of liquor dripped down his chin.

“Smoker.” Mihawk sniped, taking a swallow. “There are a lot of Marines here this year.”

Shanks laughed, banging the flat of his hand on the table. “About time!” he snorted, tipping his head back. “Evens the odds with all these rookies here to prove their worth, and the worthy that don’t know what the hell that even means.”

Hawkeye’s thumb rubbed the side of his cup, staring down his nose into the amber liquid. His reflection off the polished tabletop was sour – almost sad. “Worthy.” He breathed. He took a deep breath before hitching a smile to his lips, shaking his head and lifting his glass. “To the Worthy!” he called, and all around them others raised their glasses – all toasting to his proclamation.

Shanks too, lifted his own glass, slopping whisky across his friends hand as he almost shattered the glasses as they *clinked together.

**

“Contestants, step forward to your marks!”

Sabo leaned forward on the beam in front of him, both hands in his pockets as he watched the contestants in the wide snowy yard in front of him. The voice of their ‘guide’ emanating from several near-frozen den den snails set on every third beam of the patrician that separated the crowd from the contest.

“Best five standing will move on to round four.” Came the guide’s voice. The blonde man watched the faces of the contestants that remained. There had been fifty at the beginning, and now there were only ten. Only one man had actually died, the others simply had been rendered too injured to continue. Of these ten were some names he’d seen on wanted posters, and some he knew from elsewhere. There was Tibany, one of Ivankov’s. Sabo was actually surprised to see him here, as the man hardly ever left Momoiro Island these days. Tibany was worth a hundred million beli, though few knew about it because the Revolution had had all records expunged. Agotogi, a two-bit kidnapper worth hardly more than four million beli. Zodia, and Terry.

“Begin!”

The weaponless combat was a favorite for low-bounty pirates, or civilians who just wanted to show off and bloody someone up. Zodia, who usually fought with a sword, was already porting two black eyes and a swollen tongue. His mouth hanging open wide as his fists rounded up into a black haired man’s chest, knocking the wind out of the other man as he fell onto his back. The black haired man did not get back up. Sabo rested his chin on folded arms, watching the snow fall in front of his face while Agotogi’s red hair was grabbed by the blonde okama. The revolutionary smirked as Tibany spun the red-headed kidnapper around and around before finally ending up with a bit of the man’s scalp clenched in his fist, the body of the other flying out of bounds before falling hard onto the frozen ground.

“Stop!” Each round had barely lasted ten minutes. The contestants being in such high and violent spirits. Sabo sighed. He’d have gladly accepted to be in one of these more mindless contests at the moment. Anything to keep his thoughts off the fact that not one, but both of his brothers were on the island.

He wasn’t even sure why he didn’t want to tell Ace or Luffy that he was still alive, that they were together on Kibo for this moment in time. Or maybe that was why. He didn’t want to feel that happiness, that presence of ‘family’ just to have it ripped away again when he dove into the underground of the Revolution that neither of his brother could be a part of. They were pirates… He wasn’t.

“Contestants, take your marks!” the guide’s voice rang out, echoing in Sabo’s frozen ears like a gong back to a reality he still only half believed he was living. “Best two will move on to the fifth and final round!”

Sabo’s burn hurt. The memory of it – hurt.

“Begin!”

This time the clash of fists and knees was intensified. Sabo heard the cracking of bones as blows landed, and a spray of blood landed audibly on the fence just under his nose. It sounded just like the blood he’d seen spilled by those fucking Celestial Dragons when they had come to Goa. His lips curled around his teeth as he buried his face in his arms. The sound of battle like a balm against his memories, as seiring as that burn had been against his eye.

“Stop!” echoed the guide.

Sabo’s eyes came up to find the last two contestants, Tibany and Terry. The Grand Line Barkeep he had met. He and Dragon pretty close, as the stoic giant usually was with anyone who controlled the supply and flow of alcohol. Terry had thick arms that had thick tattoos, and a bald patch on his head. What hair he had left was pulled back into a pony tail, and he usually had a kindly face. It was not so at this moment, of course, his eyes tracked onto the blond okama filled with loathing and passion and the stress of being in the final round of a contest.

“Begin!”

The two collided with speed, one of Terry’s thick hands catching Tibany’s first kick. Tibany had on five inch stilettos with a vicious heal – and in fact it had been with those that the only death of this competition had been made. Sabo wondered why he was allowed them, as they were assuredly as deadly as a shiv or a knife. But he was allowed them, and Terry was aware. The barkeep’s second hand came around at Tibany’s knee, pressing a blow forward until a sickening *crack filled the air that made the surrounding crowd gasp and bring hands to their faces.

The okama fell to the ground clutching his broken leg, the knee bent at an awkward angle telling plainly that he would not be standing on it again this day.

“Stop!” the guide’s magnified voice flitted out through the den dens. “Winner of Hope’s Bare Handed Battle! All the way from Mock Town, Jaya! Terry!”

Sabo pushed himself back from the partition as Terry was presented with a medal. The man smiling disbelievingly as his hand was raised before a cheering, whooping crowd. Kibo’s residents tossing snow-flowers and coins, as was custom. Medical personal came next, some lifting Tibany onto a stretcher while others helped Terry away to see to his own injuries. Concussions, cuts, bruises, or other smaller injuries were so common during the contest that Kibo’s medical staff ranked as some of the best in the world. In fact some of them considered it a competition in and of itself. Doctors came from all around to show off or gain experience, sometimes even from the Holy Land of Mariejois.

“You seem preoccupied.”

Sabo rested his back against the partition and looked up into Jozu’s smiling face. He had been friends with the Whitebeard Third Division Commander for a long time, even if he hadn’t set foot on the Moby Dick for several years, for obvious reasons. “Jozu.” The blonde clasped both his hands with the other man’s. Dwarfed by the other as he always was.

“So we finally see you on Kibo, brat!” laughed the Third Division Commander. “You should come say hello to Pops, it’s been that long!”

The smile on Sabo’s face was forced, and Jozu could see it, though he knew better than to ask what was bothering the pale young man – Sabo had never been one to talk about his past, much like Ace when he had joined their ranks, and the larger man shook his head sadly.

The Revolutionary fell in step with his old friend, making their way through the lanes of food stalls and souvenir shops. Onlookers pressed along the edges of the main through-fare, clapping their hands in time with music emanating from a marching band and stilt-walkers dressed in bright red and orange, waving streamers. Fire eaters followed, and the puffs of light were complimented by the reflection of them in the snow. There were small children perched on their parent’s shoulders, pointing and laughing and dreaming of all those things that children were supposed to dream of.

“Been a hell of a year.” Jozu said, placing a hand on Sabo’s shoulder. “I heard about the battle on the Says Bridge.” The warmth in the Third Division Commander’s eyes hit Sabo like a battering ram, and he looked away with his cheeks burning.

“That was luck.” He muttered, clamping his eyes shut. “It could have easily been any one of us.”

Jozu chuckled, facing once more towards the parade. “Aye. That it could have.”

Sabo reluctantly returned his attention back to the dancers and happy faces around him. Still so odd that it felt he must be on his guard – but as Dragon had told him, that feeling was beginning to fade. Kibo providing an obscure form a safety that was impossible to find anywhere else. He smiled as the stilt walkers passed to be replaced by women in fanning silk gowns with furs wound around their necks and arms, spinning hypnotizingly in a blur of color caught by the twinkling lights that hung above, and when his laughter broke, it was free and full, like it had not been for years.

**

“What was that, Old Fart?!”

Zeff’s peg *thwacked on the concrete steps of a huge building. Concrete pillars set every ten to twelve feet along a white façade. It was windowless, save for the glass doors where a bright light filtered through to light up the whole square in front of it. It reminded Sanji a lot of Square Door, except that it had no navy blue trimming, and instead looked like a block of ice. Near its flat roof, four of five stories above their heads, opened vent pockets where billowed a steady fog into the air like a factory. Except for the fact that the steam was white and not black, and no foul smell permeated the area - rather a delicious mixture of sugars, spices, yeasts and oils lifted and wafted on the frigid air.

“You heard me, lil’ Eggplant!” Roared the older chef, knocking the last of the snow from his prosthetic. “You’ll put out that cigarette, or you won’t enter Hope’s Kitchens!”

Sanji’s indignant sputtering lasted only long enough for the doors to open and a balding man with grey-white beard to come out with two beautiful woman on each arm. “Zeff!” called the elderly cook, because Sanji could tell he was a cook from his white chef’s coat.

“Banban, you old dog!” Zeff’s fist closed around his friends as they chortled and exchanged words. None of which Sanji heard of course, his eyes turned to hearts and absolutely glued to the women that had been on Banban’s arms.

One had red hair, trailing all the way down to her fur boots. She wore a black fur coat trimmed with a fluffy fringe that complimented the curves of her neck and hips. The cuffs of her sleeves folded delicately over thick gloves to protect what were surly milky soft and slim fingers. The second had dark skin, nearly as black as her friend’s coat, but her hair was exactly the opposite, whiter than white, kissed at the tips with a gold tinge. Her hands were bare, nails painted brightly orange to match the hue of her eyes, which, upon closer inspection, had elongated pupils like a cat or a Sea King.

“So this is your little spout, eh?” Banban’s voice knocked the air out of Sanji’s lungs, making him aware of the freezing air once again. He shivered as he turned to the elderly chef and extended a gloved hand.

“Name’s Sanji.” He said, shaking hands with Zeff’s old friend.

Banban laughed heartily before wrapping arms around the two women again. “Well you’re just in time! They’re just putting the finishing touches on the soups, got a thousand pounds of Red Eel up from the dock this morning, seasoned up and ready to go. They’ll be wanting the banquet laid and ready before Shanks brings down the heart. I heard a rumor that there’ll be some big name Marines coming in tonight as well.”

“Marines?” Zeff snorted. “They’re a bit late. You catch those ‘big names’?”

“Ssk Sengoku was mentioned.” Whispered the woman with black skin. Sanji nearly felt himself melting when he realized that she had a forked tongue.

“He’ll not be coming alone.” Zeff’s fingers closed around his thick blonde mustache, a subconscious gesture as he thought carefully. After a moment, however, he shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, well. Shanks and Mihawk will figure it out. I’m sure they’re already aware.”

It was the redheaded woman’s turn to giggle, a gloved hand over her full pale lips. “Yonko Shanks was at the Main Fair earlier.” She said in a light, airy voice that stiffened Sanji in ways he wished he wouldn’t be with his semi-father so nearby. “He and Mihawk were quite drunk, if I recall.”

Both Zeff and Banban let out a pained groan, their hands – in unison – landing palm first to their foreheads.

 

### What is Customary

### ~~~~*~~~~

Law’s mouth hung open, just enough to prove that he cared very little about how stupid he must have looked. The man had just gotten up, tipped his black hat and smiled a smile so cocky and robust and fucking full of glee! Tapping the soles of polished black boots, he was up and bowed his head to each of those present – Law, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. The latter two sitting just as dumbfoundedly as their captain. Bepo’s got a full paw stuffed into his mouth to keep himself from laughing. He’d be exempt from this particular ‘custom’ on Kibo Island.

“What makes your furry ass so special?” Penguin grumbled, Shachi slumping into the sofa back beside him.

Trafalgar Law brought his eyes down to a list of names he had in his hand. Law’s ‘status’ qualified him to ask a certain class of woman to the event that evening… or so it had been explained to him in such a way he only half understood. The Heart Captain swallowed hard at some of them – duchesses, mainly; and a handful of lesser daughters popular in the New World. There were some various royalty– Law finally managed to bring his teeth back together before shaking his head. He should have felt honored to be parading around in Kibo, catching the eyes of the worthy… except… The paper crumpling into a wadded ball in Law’s fist had a visceral effect on the room at large, a tug he even felt himself. He actually growls before throwing himself up out of the armchair he’d suddenly found himself in.

Law’s nakama watch mutely as their captain marched across the carpet, throwing open the sliding glass door to the balcony before stepping outside and slamming it back into place.

**

“Eh?! Why?” Nami looked horrified, the spoon she had been using to stir a spiced chocolate in her hand hung suspended in the air, dripping dark staining liquid onto her skirt.

“It has always been that way.” Igaram frowned, crossing his arms and looking stonily away to one side. Weather he agreed with the custom or not seemed irrelevant.

Vivi gave a long sigh.

**

Yasopp hadn’t at first noticed his son’s footsteps come to a halt as they trudged through the snow back towards the city’s curios district. They would go back to the Cheap Hotel before heading in for the Main Fair, the older pirate using the quiet to go over some minor details of some of Hope’s oldest customs, when the Strawhat Sniper’s blood suddenly ran cold.

“Ball?” Usopp asked.

Yasopp nodded. “Aye. Shank’s never retired Hope’s Ball, and because Roger loved it, it’s still here. The event focuses around the Heart anyway.” He waved one hand, turning back to the snow in front of them.

“And I’ll have to dance?”

Again, Yasopp nodded. “What?” he chortled, lifting one freezing foot and then another, but it was with a much more sober consideration that the father did ask. “You have danced with girls before?”

Usopp flushed pale behind the layers of scarf he had wound around his neck nearly to the brim of a flattish hat he’d gotten from the hotel. He hardly knew how to dance, though Luffy had been trying to teach everyone how to swing dance since he’d agreed to come aboard. “Ha! Are you kidding? They call me Usopp, the Lady’s Man! Fifty beautiful women would hardly be a challenge for me!” It was Sanji’s drunken proclamation, and Usopp had heard it enough times to feel more than comfortable emulating it. Which he did with frightening ease. Weather his father did fall for his lie or not, the other didn’t let on. Usopp would like to think that he pulled it off – just to make himself believe he’d be able to do the same that evening, at Hope’s Ball.

**

Smoker laid down his straight razor, towel in hand to wipe away what remained of the fluffy white foam from the corners of his face when there were several heavy thuds on the hotel-room door. Expecting Tashigi again, because damn if the young swordswoman hadn’t been moody ever since their arrival on the island, Smoker paid it no mind. Instead, he slipped on his underwear and trousers, turning to face the mirror again before reaching for his cigar box just to the corner of the sink. It was as his fingers curled around the sweet-smelling leaves of what he regarded the best tobacco on the Grand Line, came the loudest bang of all. Wood splinters made a dust as the frame came loose from the wall and an already dented metal knob thudded across the carpet.

He had expected to see Tashigi, really he had.

“What the hell is this?” She hissed, her rose-kissed hair falling about her face. She had a slim cigarette between her lips, but she’d not yet lit it, and in her hand was a blue envelope and a letter inside. Smoker knew what it was. He had wrote it that morning.

“Come to the Ball with me, Hina-jo.” The marine muttered as he tipped his head, lighting both cigars and surrounding himself with smoke.

“Don’t you think-!”

“No! I don’t.” Smoker turned, looking down at the woman who had – past and present – several times outranked him, who had trained with him, fought him, agreed with him, hated him, and loved him… Black Cage Hina-jo. He’d been dying for the opportunity to get her so close, and Hope’s Ball? He’d rarely get another chance to get so completely into her. “Not on Kibo. Thinking will only get you trouble, get you hurt…” flipping closed his lighter with a *clack, his eyes return to the mirror. “…get you dead.”

Hina had not yet carried herself any nearer than just inside the room, standing in a nest of wood shreds that were what remained of the door. Smoker standing before her in his standard issue trousers, feet and chest bare and hair slicked back. His room pervaded by cologne and whisky and cigar smoke, a mixture she was not unfamiliar with.

“Sm- Smoker-san?!” Tashigi’s harried voice cut over the captain’s shoulder and she turned to see Smoker’s subordinate assessing the damage to the establishment.

“Ah, it’s nothing, Tashigi. Please tell the manager to take the repairs out of my stay.” Called the Logia, eyes never straying from his rose-haired equal. “Go tell him I will be down shortly to discuss the costs.”

Tashigi bowed before retreating down the hallway towards the stairs.

“She’s a good little errand-dog, isn’t she?” Hina asked, a sneer on her lips.

Smoker’s arms crossed as he faced Hina. “Are you insinuating that I mistreat my subordinates?”

“I hear you’ve pitted her against Mihawk.” She leered, “Some might say you were trying to killer her.”

Smoker’s back stiffened at that, but he just grinned. “You weren’t there, Hina-jo.” A long breath out, and the man sighs. “How can you tell such a strong Will, that it has to stay quiet? At heel while all that is temptation exists around it? She’d have driven herself mad unless I gave her someone to compete against.”

“She couldn’t decide a competition on her own? You had to do it?!”

“Tashigi shook on it.” Smoker said as Hina paused for breath. “Shanks agreed to it.” The woman’s eyes went wide, but Smoker couldn’t care less about the upcoming swordfight. Just a flash in what will undoubtedly be a long career for the young woman. No, he’d rather know… or rather confirm for himself, who he would have on his arm in a few hours’ time. “So, don’t think. Just say ‘yes’, Hina-jo.”

**

Pools of melted ice and snow glided up and under Marco’s feet as slush, which quickly melted to ‘just water’, before a gentle fizzle announced a final transformation into hot vapor. Steam billowed around them, as if either men actually controlled such a convenient element. The wispy curtain of steam hid both commanders from any eyes that might just-so-happen to look back into that side ally. It seemed that no one was in the process or entering or leaving the little theater just behind them, a small courtesy, as neither wished for an audience. However, neither were prepared to stop, should one start to gather.

Ace hung in Marco’s arms. He hadn’t put his coat back on, after the scare in the magic show, he’d completely forgotten about it. And he wasn’t cold now. Marco pressed their bodies more closely together, reaching for Ace’s fire, which danced across all of his exposed skin, the entire top half of his body.

“We should go get dressed, yoi.” Marco’s purr fell into Ace, the younger gasping at the freezing air. Flames encircling the both of them were all Ace’s thoughts, all his energies reached with hysteretic hunger for the older man’s so-very-different flames.

“Later?”

Half of Marco was already lost in Ace’s fire, so willing to reduce himself to impossible ash as a soft warm tongue came out from between the younger man’s lips, tracing circles along his lover’s pale neck just above the fur collar lining his jacket.

“Everything else, later?” Ace’s soft coo sound almost like a plea.

**

“Captain Monkey D. Luffy?”

Benn, Dragon, Zoro, and Luffy stared at the man in a crisp black suite with a tall black hat on his head. He didn’t appear to have any features, and Zoro was having a hard time looking at him, thinking that the man just reminded him of so many people he’d seen before that it was making him dizzy.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy.” The Strawhat captain raised his hand from where he sat on the ground leaning against his first mate’s legs. He wound one hand around a firm ankle as his head spun.

The man removed his hat and bowed, “Hope’s Ball is this evening, and as Captain of the Strawhat Pirates you are expected to attend. You may accompany anyone on the island without exclusion, however, be warned, the Ball has become a Royal Event! Please dress as King this evening.” He straightened his back without missing a beat, tipping his hat towards the two older men sharing space behind Luffy before walking away into the crowd. He did not acknowledge Zoro in any way.

“Dress as a King?” Dragon took a long drag off the cigarillo Benn had given him, exhaling the majority of the thick yellow smoke through his nose. When he spoke again it was a voice so slight and distant that Benn could never have sworn to have actually heard it. “So, even Kibo knows.” Suddenly he was laughing, pronounced white canines glinting in the lights of the festival.

Pinching the remainder of the sweet tobacco wrapped in brown leaves that tasted like sugar, Dragon turns to take Benn’s hand again, pressing their shoulders together before the man turns towards Zoro and Luffy, “Good Luck.” He says, more of a growl than a human voice, and it goes to Luffy’s chest like hot ice.

“Who are you?” Luffy asks, his head is spinning again, and he’s not entirely sure why, but he’s not entirely sure it’s to do with him, and he’s wondering why Zoro’s got a hand on his shoulder like that. Also how come his swordsman is able to stand, anyway? With the whole world tipping over like it is.

**

Sabo wandered from the parade, but not until he saw the very last float made of ice and snow flowers. It was an enormous bird wrapped around a mountainside. There must have been thousands of individually carved ice fathers making up those hauntingly-blue wings spanning an arch of at least twenty feet over a singularly carved mountain. Each wing fanned out in delicate glory, the bright twinkle of white or red ice flowers and reeds decorated the bird’s belly like gems, and people cheered to see it, as though it had been victorious.  
The blonde sighed, clutching his coat closer as he turned a side street in a westerly direction. He needed to find a partner for tonight, Dragon had said, and though he’d been looking around at everyone, there really was only one person he’d want to spend the evening with. Someone he’d never thought he’d ever have the opportunity to meet.

**  
Robin’s footsteps echoed through her body, even if the sound of them she could not contest to hear. Her eyes were dry, having cried out everything she had… it made her head hurt, made her tongue swollen and even her teeth hurting.

Her mother, Nico Olivia, had come to Kibo, once upon a time.

The smile playing over the twenty-eight year old woman pushed her cheekbones high on her face as she closed her eyes. Her arms wrapped around a precious book, something her mother had left on Kibo so that one day other historians might learn. Robin wanted to learn. There was nothing else worth living for!

*Crunch

The Strawhat historian paused, frozen in place by a too-near footstep. She had hardly been paying attention, but suddenly found that she was in a dark corner just at the end of Kibo’s Curios district. She had approached from the north, and had not seen the streetlights going out.

“Nico Robin.” Sabo bowed his head, and Robin could only just see the outline of hit tall top hat and high collared jacket.

“Do I know you?” she asked, clutching tighter to the tome in her arms.

“Ah, yes. We’ve met, but maybe we should go somewhere with a little more light?”

The hand on her shoulder was startling, but as she could feel no obvious ill from this strange man who stood taller than she did, she allowed herself to be steered forward. It didn’t take long for the two of them to enter a well-lit establishment. Light able to fall across Sabo’s person, throwing his disfigured face into relief, and for Robin to recognize him.

“Hope’s Ball?”

“That’s right.”

Robin giggled into the back of her hand as Sabo removed her long thick coat and hung it on the wrack behind them. “Surely there are many women lined up for the honor of having a Revolutionary Soldier on their arm?”

He snorted, walking around behind her to pull out her chair. After she was seated he took his own place on the other end of the table. “You flatter us.” He said, bowing his head. A waitress laid down menus and cheerily explained each special before rushing away to fetch drinks. Robin watched the younger man curiously.

“You came to our hotel earlier, asking about Luffy?” she said, more of a statement than a question, and so the man said nothing in response. “How do I know your flattery is genuine, and not intended as a trap for my nakama?”

Sabo did smirk at this, because it had finally been made real to him. “You may trust me.” The waitress had returned with their drinks, and Sabo took his in his hand as the girl skittered away. “Will you do me the pleasure of a dance this evening, Devil Child Nico Robin?”

Her answering smile lit up the world, Sabo thought, and he knew he’d not regret this evening at all. “I would be glad to, Revolutionary Officer Sabo.”

 

### Later or Now

### ~~~~*~~~~

Nami’s eyes slid back and up, both booted feet twining into the metal footrest of the bar stool she sat on beside Vivi. Igaram across from them, grumpy and serious. It was driving her crazy. Searching the low gray snow cloud as if for answers, she was struck by the fact that night had fallen and it was barely lunch time. Over the last few days she had noticed this, cycles of thicker and thicker cloud coming into contact with the island from east, only to be caught in an updraft from that massive volcano to the west. The cloud would be trapped overhead, mixing and swirling above the city of Kibo, Hope’s only city, and sometimes, like now, those clouds blocked out the sun. Every breath and sigh was visible on the air, and several times she put out a hand to see if she might even be able to touch the floating crystals. It was that cold. Still, they were sitting outside drinking coco and coffee with spices and touches of booze. Sharing time with a nakama she never expected to see again so soon.

Nami smiled.

“There is a clause in all Royal candidate matches.” The princess says, placing down her mug and taking a small book from her pocket. After removing a heavy band from around the outside she read aloud: “Any and all propositions can be vetoed by either matched party for any reason. Reason must be given.” Vivi leaned closer to the redheaded, handing her the tightly bound pages. “Pell gave this to me. He’s been to many of Hope’s Carnivals, and accompanied my father here on other occasions.”

Nami’s eyes slid down the page that had all sorts of facts about Hope’s Ball, facts about dances and music, pairings of powerful royal families, old revolutionary curses that still exist, a few mentions of fights or raids… There was also a portion about Gol D Roger, referencing his last Ball on Kibo… Nami hadn’t had to think about this much, but now that she saw this she realized she was a Pirate representing a Kingdom on behalf of a Royal. She bit her tongue, eyes sliding down the lists of random tips and facts. Near the bottom her eyes settled on a single phrase. ‘Pirates are neither contestant nor participant for consideration.’

“Vivi.” Nami pointed at the little script on the corner of the page.

The princess’ smile slid off her face as soon as she read what her friend had found.

“Do you think it’s true?” Nami asked, settling back in her chair and sipping from the steaming cup she had been stirring. The fragrance of Hope’s spices were in everything, tasting of bird’s eye chilies and white pepper, but more complicated… mixed with the rich chocolate undercurrent, each biting taste rolled over her tongue like silk. Turning pages her eyes skimmed over lists and lists of rules and regulations and histories. Robin would have loved this book!

“I don’t know.” Vivi muttered.

Nami nodded. “We’ll play it safe.” She said gently, eyes boring into the side of the man who was ‘chaperoning’ them around the Royal District. Like they needed being taken care of.

**

Luffy opened his eyes, but didn’t move for some time. He could smell meat somewhere nearby, could hear it sizzling. He’d just come to the conclusion that while his face was cold, the rest of him felt horribly warm and constricted. Oh, right, he’s wearing a t-shirt, a thick sweater, and a fur coat… He was on his back, his head resting on something slightly elevated and warm. It took him a while to realize he was outside. The lights reminding him that he is at the fair, and he’s with Zoro. There’s pressure on his scalp. Chill air tickling at the fringes of hot trails from fingers being passed though his hair, and he’s hoping like hell it’s his swordsman’s touch, and not just another dream wishing it were. Luffy’s just leaned into a warm calloused palm against his left cheek when his eyes cross and he’s realized he’d fallen asleep while trying to figure out who that big man was!

**

Zoro let Luffy put the pieces together, one hand carding gently through black hair, dragging blunt fingernails across his scalp. Luffy leaned into the larger man’s touch, his swordsman’s thumb ghosting over the raised scar just beneath his left eye. Suddenly sitting outside in the midst of Hope’s Carnival became one-hundred-billion-percent worth it.  
It’d been nearly a half hour since his captain had collapsed. Benn had taken off, saying he’d come back with food, and that Luffy could sleep off anything. Zoro, deciding he’d not appreciate being soaked through, moved himself and his Sencho to one of the nearby benches around a massive tree trunk. Shows had begun on the nearby stages, and music played differently depending on which way you were facing. He watched as ever growing rings of locals dancing and singing and drinking. There were a handful of enclosures set about the yard, most of them fairly small, with two to ten contenders in some fight to the last man mentality. Others were a little larger, focusing on which style of fighting was to be judged. A massive structure had been put up near the center of the courtyard, and he had no idea what this much space was to be used for. It was surreal for Zoro when he thought that it was this same courtyard that he had chased Luffy, both nearly stripping each other before reaching the hotel on the further side. Benn had since told the first mate that it was named Roger’s Hotel, but that Gol D Roger had actually never slept in the building once. When Zoro asked the older pirate where the Pirate King did have his room, the Red Hair first mate just shrugged. “All I know is, there are usually a lot of empty rooms at the Roger these days.” He’d lit himself another cigarillo, scratching at the nests of scars on his cheek before leaving.

Zoro was a little more preoccupied with the fact that Luffy had his head in his lap, so much so that he was a little disappointed when his captain groaned and sat up. He coughed hard before turning so he leaned over both of his own knees.

“Zoro.” Breathed the Rubber man.

“Aye.”

From under the brim of his straw hat, Monkey D Luffy stared at a pair of well-beyond-worn boots sticking out from under a long black fur coat that was the man beside him. It was the only bit of Zoro that he could recognize without looking him in the face, and he’d rather not do that for some reason. “Glad it’s Zoro.” He sighed.

“Of course it’s me. Who the hell else would it be?” Zoro smacked his captain in the back of the head, sending the straw hat flipping forward into his Sencho’s lap.

Luffy squinted at first, but then looked around. Twinkling white lights were what hit him first, and as his eyes adjusted he understood that they hung from every gate, branch, or window. Beyond the light was the fair, the food stalls and fights. Men stood on barrels taking bets and there were rings of dancing girls. Children with sparklers ran around in a giant circle that encompassed one of the huge trees that dotted the yard. He and Zoro were under one of those trees right now, and Luffy tilted his head back to gaze upward at the splaying branches that were slightly illuminated from below. “Ohhooo!” he sprang to his feet, standing on the bench and looking up at the sky. “When did it get dark, Zoro? How long have I been asleep?!”

“Get your ass down here.” The green haired man pulled at his captain’s coat, and Luffy came back down onto the bench with a rubbery thud. “You’ve been asleep for about ten minutes, then you were kind of asleep for another fifteen. And I don’t know why it’s dark, it’s just after lunchtime.”

Luffy nodded. For as lethargic and as just plain *wrong the Strawhat captain had felt before, he feels now as if he could take on the entire Grand Line at once. Grinning at his swordsman the younger man bends forward to press their lips together, tasting the older before he’s pushed himself up and sprung backwards towards the center of the yard. A large bomb fire had been erected and lit there, and Luffy’s halfway towards it when he stops, pausing to look back at his first mate, who’s just stood from the bench, but frozen where he stands. Zoro isn’t sure he likes that Luffy’s just, what? Bounced back? He had seemed too weak to stand, then he’s passed out? Face-down in the ice? Luffy’s never like that… usually he’s too active to fall asleep when he’s supposed to, let alone when he’s not.

“Shi-shi-shi-shi-shi!” Luffy’s turned and running towards the fire, signature straw hat back on his head for all to see. Two children have already run up and pointed at it, Luffy’s making balloon-animal poses for them, and the only thing Zoro can hear is their giggling voices on the cold winter air of Kibo.

“You two are adorable.”

Zoro damn near jerked out of his skin. At the same time he reeled back to stare at the presence that had come upon his psyche like a tone of iron spikes. The wide man’s face is stretched in a smile under that ridiculous balaclava and stripped long-coat. You can’t see his eyes for the goggles he wears, and still wearing even though it’s dark. “Quit screwing with me!” the swordsman shouts at Lucky Roo.

The portly man laughs, pointing a gloved hand while Zoro steadily became redder and redder in the face. “ahahhaha!” gasping, Roo settled himself down on the bench Zoro had just stood from. The swordsman considered for a moment, watching his Sencho run around and around with a little girl dangling from his neck with maybe a dozen others laughing and chasing after them. He sighs heavily before sitting back down and crossing his arms. “*Why are you screwing with me?” he grunts, eyes focused on his captain.

“Ha!” Roo laughs, a hearty belt of mirth that echoes up the packed street. No reaction from the Swordsman, eh? The cold does strange things to rookies, the magnetics, unintentional family relations screwing with haki and horuki. Crews getting separated or realigned throughout the fair. It was happening to everyone already, so much blood on the air he could almost see it splashed against the snow.

“What?”

Lucky Roo shook his head. He’d been staring into the courtyard, spacing out. “Ah. Sorry. ‘s no reason!” he laughed, belly shaking behind sturdy buttons. The snow was falling again. Zoro watched it for a few moments when the larger man stood.

“You got somewhere to be?” Zoro asked, finally dragging his gaze away from his captain.

Roo chuckled again, but turned towards the swordsman, and at last he had the man’s attention! “The Ball is in a few hours, just a matter of how long Shanks and Hawky take moving Kibo’s heart.”

Zoro's lips inched at a smile, though only a moment when, with effort, he pulled his face back to the realms of stoicism he deemed appropriate. Besides – “What does Shanks have to do with Dracule Mihawk?”

Now it has to be said, on the streets of Kibo, during Hope’s carnival, you may find a king arm in arm with a pirate, a woman who never sleeps, or if you prefer: a treasure map to unspeakable riches. And behind them all, is a rat that can talk. Roo’s seen it all. He’s part of the inner courtship between the Royals and the Curios, the Docks and the Fools. The grin he gave Zoro now told the swordsman all he would get. Yes. Lucky Roo of the Red Hair Pirates knows, but he’s not saying.

“The Ball could happen as soon as a couple of hours. Should go get changed~” The man laughed as he turns and walked away. “Of course, might not be until later than that… ‘ all depends on how many beers those bastards’ll have before they make it to the museum and back!”

As the larger man walked away into the crowds of dancers and so many children they were like moving grass, he paused, ruffling Luffy’s hair before shouting something at the younger man. Luffy didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to what the other pirate told him, only that he put down the little girl that had by then climbed up onto his shoulder. With children gathered all around him, Zoro saw his Sencho say something, and then raise his hand towards the nearest sweets booth. The proprietor looked quite distressed as he was rushed, but when one of the children pointed back at the man in the red coat and straw hat, his jaw slackened. Luffy gave the man a thumbs up and one of his smiles that lights up islands. It’s not long before the children have their sweets and chocolates and they’re waving goodbye to their ‘big-brother King’.

Did Zoro hear that kid right?

Benn poked the swordsman in the back of the head, nodding as he came around the bench and sat down. He had a few string-tied boxes under one arm, the smell coming off them so indecently delicious Zoro’s suddenly ravenous. Now that the children were on their way elsewhere, Luffy joins the two first mates, thanking Benn even as he began to gobble down anything he could get ahold of.

“Oh, by the way, I got this to give to you.” Benn handed over an envelope, the words Monkey D Luffy written neatly across the top.

Luffy took the letter, his eyebrows knitting as he swallowed. “Somebody wrote to me? Where’d you get it?”

“Up near the front of the square.” Benn pointed over his shoulder before returning to his food. “Because everybody is so spread out all the time there are places to leave letters, messengers carry news personally if it’s really important, or if it has anything to do with the Carnival.”

Luffy nodded, tearing open the side of the envelope. Zoro rarely saw Luffy reading, and the sight of him doing so was a little disquieting. Almost as if one of his katana were to start lifting weights on its own. Brown eyes slid from one side of the paper to the other, flicking down towards the bottom before lowering the fluttering sheet to his knees.

“Well?” Zoro asked, scraping the last grains of rice from the bottom of his container.

“Someone wants me to take Nami to the Ball.” Said the captain, pinching his tongue between his teeth.

Zoro’s eyes had gone slightly wide, unblinking as his knuckles went white around his chopsticks. “A-aye.” He’s not entirely sure what to say. Not entirely sure about this Ball thing in the first place.

Luffy huffed. “Don’t wanna.” He wined, wolfing down the rest of his meal in one gargantuan bite, box and all.

Benn stared, taking the letter off the younger man’s lap. “You don’t have to say yes to these things, but Nami’s one of your nakama, isn’t she?”

“My navigator.”

Benn’s eyes scanned the top of the letter. Gold gilt and written by hand. A scribe, because only a scribe is so delicate. ‘Request to accompany Royal Pirate, Nami, to Hope’s Ball this evening.’ Alabasta’s World Government crest embossed just below. “Your nakama is a Royal Pirate?”

“Eh?” Luffy tilted his head. “She said she was going to do a contest for Vivi, Vivi’s a princess.”

Benn nodded. “Then you better get going, you’ll need to find something to wear -”

“Don’t wanna take Nami to the Ball.” Luffy groused, puffing out his cheeks in annoyance.

The older man chuckled, folding the letter and returning it to its envelope. “Oh yea, who do you want to take then?”

“Zoro.”

**

“Ace, wa-wait…”

Marco’s back was bare, pressed against cold brick. His coat lying in the snow next to Ace’s. There was a pair of hands on his belt that didn’t belong to him, his hands were resting on the shoulders of the beautifully sculpted body right in front of him. Portgus D Ace worked the man’s neck with his lips and tongue while his hair was carded through; Marco’s strong fingers pulling delightfully at the softer fluff near the base of his neck. Ace had been gone so long from Marco, he realized, breathing in the warmth radiating from the other man, letting his red flames flicker against the other’s bare chest, touching the tattoo he had a mirror of on his own back. Marco felt each touch of those flames so near, and brought his own to the surface of his own skin, to mix and mingle, blue and red shifting, appearing light lavender where they were completely entwined.

“I want you, Marco. The Ball can wait.” Ace breathed into his lover’s chest, nipping a line down the older’s collar bone before retracing the same line backwards with a warm tongue.

“Later.” The blonde man gasped, pulling at Ace’s shoulders halfheartedly. He really didn’t want to stop, and one really good excuse was all he needed to throw out everything and just take Ace right here, right now, and keep taking him for hours. He was racking his brain to try and find that excuse, of course Ace’s succeeding in undoing most of his buckles and reaching both flaming hands into his loosened trousers was not helping.

Thank whatever powers look after pirates and idiots that there was so much noise and music going on at the Main Fair not even one block from that dark ally, that no one heard the keening moans of the phoenix as lights began to flash before his eyes. “Not later. Now.” Ace cooed, trailing one spit-slicked forefinger along the underside of Marco’s member, eliciting a further moan and a sharp intake of breath from his lover, and Marco bent his head back.

The kiss between them was hot, literally. Ace’s fire blooming from his neck to wrap warmly around Marco, sliding heat up and down the other’s exposed back and down towards his hips to press him back. The heat gathered against Marco’s skin, and the blue feathers of his phoenix from reached for it, fluttering and preening in the pure contact with the other man. Ace pulled against Marco with desire, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at the other’s neck and chest, his tattoo, and then back up the way it came until he’s staring into both of those redolent sea-blue eyes that so matched the color of the man’s flames.

Marco was breathing heavy, all thoughts about excuses or timeframes gone. He wanted Ace. He had wanted Ace every night since the boy had up and *left the damn ship. It was only luck that he was still alive, and he wanted him alive. Splayed out lovingly for his eyes to see, alive.

A hungry sound escapes both men’s lips when Ace presses both their nakedness together. Marco had not even been aware that his pants had been removed. The freckled man is kissing him, both wrapped in each other’s arms as the slightest of movements rubs one against the other, and they bask for as long as they dare to bask in the other’s unique heat.

 

### All You

### ~~~~*~~~~

“Ne, come to the Ball with me, Zoro!”  
Snow was falling again out of the dark sky, large puffs of grey ice crystal swirling about them. Music was playing, fiddles and some kind of weird saxophone. Zoro’s ears picked up the sound of every footstep, and he dismissed it, just as he dismissed the swirling of hot acid in his guts, or maybe they were butterflies made of razor blades…  
Benn Beckman sighed, folding up Luffy’s letter and stuffing it back into its envelope. A Royal Pirate this year, eh? He’d met the Strawhat Navigator, another pretty red head. She looked so much like Rouge… Of course it wouldn’t be ‘just a small detail’ here on Kibo if Luffy were to enter the ball with the spitting image of the late D Princess herself, but... The first mate ran a thumb over his left temple, just over one of the scars interlaced across his cheek, worrying into a soft spot while sharp pangs began to play tag behind each eye.

The pair on the bench hadn’t said a word yet, and after some moments Benn chanced to look over. Zoro still had his feet in front of him, crossed at the ankles with his arms folded behind his head – but he was far from relaxed. Spine locked straight and stiff, bruised jaw set in a hard line. The green haired man’s eyes were wide, narrowing every so often if Luffy fidgeted. Zoro’s young captain was rocking on his hips like he wanted to get up and run somewhere, making as much noise as possible in the process, but he’d not gotten enough information to tell him in which direction.

They weren’t saying anything, but were deep in conversation regardless. Benn was a little impressed with the other first mate. He’d never seen little Luffy stay both seated and silent for that long.

A long deep sigh seemed to just fall out of Zoro, just as a line of children carrying a paper Sea King pass by in front of their bench, popping firecrackers and giggling into the freezing air. Luffy chances breaking his attention with Zoro to look at the puppet, waving at one of the little girls – one of the children he had carried around on his shoulders earlier…

“Alright, Sencho.”

Bright, toothy smile already lifted onto Luffy’s face, he turns both brown eyes onto Zoro. The older man chuckling at him because he’s still got his hand in the air. “Yea?” Luffy asks, wriggling so that he’s sitting cross legged on the bench beside Zoro, Benn on his first mate’s other side.

“Yea..." Zoro scoffs, before considering he aught to do the think properly, and he sits up a little straighter. "I’ll go to the Ball with you, Luffy.”

“Yea!!”

**

“Kohza…?”

Nami could not stop her lips from twitching up… could not help the blush that came to her cheeks, or the way her fingers wrapped around her face to try and hide it. It was so-so-SO hard to keep from giggling, but she must! And that thought made the Strawhat navigator want to laugh even harder, from the very bottom of her heart.

Nami settled for running her fingers though her hair, covertly taking in the appearance of the young former-rebel. He hadn’t done too badly in the last six-ish months that they had been gone from Alabasta. He held himself proudly, one hand in the pocket of a fur-lined coat. He wore glasses, sandy hair trained back from his forehead. A vivid scar tracked the side of Kohza’s tanned face, made years ago when he was just a child. Nami had never had the chance to actually meet Kohza after the battle in Alburna –she had only heard Vivi’s stories of him. So when the young man went down on one knee first in front of Vivi’s father, his King, Nami had to stuff her whole hand in her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Rise, Kohza.” Cobra waved one hand, and Nami could have sworn the King had rolled his eyes. He’d removed the gold paint from his face since the night before, and wore instead fur-lined clothes; pants, shirt, and coat. Many gold rings adorned the Kings fingers, sometimes three on each finger. Some of the time Nami wondered how much the finery around her was worth, but then she would meet the baby-blue eyes of her friend, and she reminded herself that Vivi was worth more than gold.

Kohza stands back up, and only then turns to meet Vivi’s gaze. Nami stared between them with a smile that could’ve toppled kingdoms, Igaram shifting in his chair, spiced coffee slipping unnoticed over his lips as he's determined not to look at all at Vivi or the man who came to see her. The redhead shook her head ever so slighting, taking a sip of the mulled wine Vivi had ordered for her.

“Have any other civilians come from Alabasta this year?” Cobra asked Kohza after a generous amount of silence. The younger man pulled a chair out and sat down at their table near the balcony. Hope’s Wall blared at them from one block away. A cold, blue slab of stone. The only thing keeping the city of Kibo, and the rest of Kibo apart from one another. Cobra was brought a drink from one of the waitresses who bowed her head and asked if they, each and every one of them, had what they wanted. The cheery girl ended by taking Kohza’s order before bounding away, collecting empty glasses as she went.

“Just me, actually.” Kohza said. He said it so quietly that Nami almost didn’t hear.

Nami rested her forehead against the back of Vivi’s braided blue hair. “He stowed away~” she whispered into her friend’s ear. Igaram’s eyes snapped onto them, and the princess blushed furiously. She buried her face into the redhead’s shoulder so that her father didn’t see, the two of them giggling uncontrollably.

Both Igaram and Kohza blinked at the two women across the table, seemingly lost. Cobra grinned, taking a long drink of spiced rum. It burned well on the way down. Even his frozen fingers felt warm again after just a sip. “You’re staying with the Fools?” Cobra asked.

“I-I am.”

“I see.”

**

The Strawhat historian sat quietly in a high backed chair upholstered in soft cobalt-blue that complimented the darkness outside quite beautifully. The restaurant was kept warm, but not sleepily so, and she had no problems keeping her eyes open. Sabo just looked at her, at half dark- half violet eyes and olive skin. How her slender face was framed handsomely by long, dark, silky-straight hair that rested sagely across each shoulder. Both delicate arms rested on the table before her, crossed at each wrist. He observed those eyes darting sequentially toward the walls, windows, doors, lamps and isles. He smiled gently, and he wasn’t sure if it was pity or understanding, but he reached out for the woman’s hand. Robin startled ever so slightly at his touch on her, but she immediately recovered every composure. Her attention focused on the bluer than blue eyes of the man who sat across from her at that table. He was younger than she was, but still a man. After a moment Sabo settled back in his chair. Black silk top-hat on the tabletop at his wrist. Both his hands were pale like the Strawhat cook’s, while strong like their swordsman. He was sporting more than a few deep-but-healed cuts. His face, in contrast, was soft and smooth, except the portion of it that was not only smooth, but red. A wide wheel had been branded into Sabo, the violence nearly taking his eye, and spanning across the entirety of his left cheek and forehead to be lost under golden hair, where she’s now realized is missing a patch where the burn continues over his left ear.

“Tell me.” Robin breathes, eyes tracking along his hairline, down across lightly pitted skin before continuing along the man’s neck. “Is rebellion a good business?”

Sabo reaches for the wine glass on the table between them, swirling the hot red liquor before taking a tight-lipped sip. The wine burned against his tongue, but it was warming. Slow heat progressing from the tip of his tongue into his belly. “I wouldn’t say it produces wealthy men.” He admitted.

“It creates famous men.” Robin giggled. “But are they good men?”

It took Sabo a lot longer to answer her question than she’d like. “A man is a man.” The revolutionary smiled to himself, before waving a waitress over to their table so they could order.

The establishment was beginning to fill up. Mainly by locals in rich gowns and furs. Many had gold necklaces or other decorations about their wrists and necks. Feathered hairpins flashed in the candlelight, colorful and precious gems flashing… The fashion of several folds or twisted braids in the fabric seemed to be most prized. On a winter island such as this one, the historian was not surprised. The men were hardly less-creatively dressed. Several had on suits with high collars trimmed with fur, others wore open chested or buttoned-down models, often draped in long robes that could be pulled up. Colors ranged in these outfits, Robin saw blood-red and simmering caramels, opaque gold, shimmery sapphire, jade, and ruby. One man had on a black fur jacket, but both shirt and tie so shockingly gold that it might have indeed been metallic armor he wore underneath. There were a handful of those wearing simple clothes, like Robin herself, but they were few.

“Nico Robin.”

She inclined her head to find a man standing just to the side of her and Sabo’s quiet table. He was a huge man, eight feet tall – towering above them wearing a deep green coat trimmed with bold sable. His face bore marks, just as Sabo's, only this time an array of red tattoos wove over the entirety of his face, chin to hairline. A matting of black hair stuck out from his head in every direction, though it appeared he had tried to comb it back before walking outside in the wind. Across from Robin, Sabo appeared distinctively unhappy, shifting in his chair.

“Dragon~” The blonde hummed.

“Dragon?” Robin’s dark eyes widened for the briefest of moments. “You are the leader of the Revolt?”

With a practiced bow, Monkey D Dragon lowered his head. “And you are the Demon Child, Nico Robin, yes?” Raising once more, Dragon held one large hand to his chest, but it was his smile Robin saw. A toothy grin so wide she felt his face would split in two. But instead of looking dangerous, or even 'mad', it seemed to be... almost familiar… “I could not help but to overhear your question earlier.” Said the revolutionary leader. “If rebellion was good business?” Both brown eyes wheeled onto the younger blond man, but Sabo turned resolutely away.

“I did ask that.” Robin said.

Dragon returned his attention to her, both dark, steady – both very clever eyes glittering with curiosity. Oh, but *She is a force to be reckoned with. His smile widened. “Rebellion is a season.” He explains. “It is short, and bitter, and bares no fruit. But without it, the trees cease to grow, and the ground would lie dead under our feet.”

For almost a minute Robin sat enraptured by the sound of Dragon’s voice. Of what he’d said, yes, certainly – but it was *how he said it that could have ended her. With a deep bow the large man left them to their dinner, Nico Robin watching him until he was lost in the dim light of the restaurant.

From across the table Robin observed the blonde boy sigh.

**

“ ‘S y-your fault! Hawky-e-e-e-e!”

“Sh-shut up, damn brat!”

“We’re the same age!”

Shanks clutched at Hawkeye’s silk jacket with his single right arm. Knuckles bunching up in the rich purple material. The damn stuff never ripped, and so Shanks knew he’d have a good hand-hold. Dracule tilted his face away from the other man’s in effort to avoid his hot liquored breaths. Redheaded shit clinging to him like a bur. The Shichibuki wondered vaguely, blowing the feather from his hat out of his face; when was the last time Shanks walked on his own without leaning on something or someone? He chuckled. Again contemplating if he will get Shanks a cane for his birthday.

The Curios District was not strictly part of the Main Fair that evening. It wouldn’t be for another few nights. However, that did not mean the area was empty. Many had already made rounds in busier areas and had either wandered, or simply been directed to these more quiet backstreets. Soft laughter and the *tinking of tiny glasses and cutlery rose and fell on the air. Snatches of singing, or low-low chanting as stone cups are filled with more ale. Lifted, perhaps in respect, perhaps not. It was never lost to Shanks, that Hope’s Carnival had left holes behind. Holes that were so hard to fill. Many contestants, or the families of contestants… those who survived on Kibo all the time. No matter how many years seemed to pass, Shanks had felt something about this island. There was a memory being gathered, older than any other, and he was simply passing through.

“It’s this way.” Growled Hawkeye as Shanks just stood there watching strings of lights swaying tenderly in the frigid air.

Listening to copper bells chiming from some high place, pushed by eternal-winter wind, Shanks smiled, allowing himself to be pulled onward through the cobbled streets.

**

Whitebeard felt his mustache twitch. Wrinkles around his eyes smoothing out as they fill with tears and his gut twisting up, threatening wild, free peals of laughter. But he also knew that these were his sons… his sons… and, - and this is more to the point - He was holding Tsuru’s delicate form beside him, the gentle half embrace of one arm on his. He can at least keep himself in check for her.

“Marco. Ace.” Tsuru nodded, a smile pulling on the edges of her lover’s lips, and she’s suddenly ten years younger. Whitebeard’s composure was challenged again when his two sons, naked as they day they’d been born, turned and bowed their heads. Even excusing themselves politely before making their way across the Main Fair back to the Roger Inn. Their captain's shaking his head as they go, dodging between frozen gardens and fences, food stalls and raised benches.

“That’s the second time this year!” Whitebeard belted out once his two sons were well out of earshot.

His Tsuru giggled into his coat, one arm wound around a thick forearm as they walked. They’d make a long circle of the Main Fair, enjoying the parades, drinking in each light and the sound before they too returned to the Roger to change for Hope’s Ball.

“Ah Gararara..” chuckled the Whitebeard Captain.

Tsuru raised an eye at him.

“I assumed, but never did ask you about tonight.” The old man sighs, shaking his head.

“Mmm.” The woman pressed both painted lips together, like she used to when she was young.

“Will you do me this dance, Tsuru?”

No matter how many times she’s heard it. How many times she’s heard *him say it? At least it was cold, really cold, on the path, so that the blush only flitted briefly high on her cheeks. “Of course you can, you silly-old-pirate.”

**

Chopper didn’t remember much, but he’d remembered the sun had been *UP* before he stopped remembering. His head hurt… so much. So much!

“Where-” no, Nope… talking bad. The little Zoan puts his hooves up to block his mouth, but there’s a bucket there in a flash.

“Whoa, not on my nice clean floors, friend.” The barkeep chortles. He pats Chopper firmly on his little back, and the reindeer spits up all he thinks he can for the moment.

The room is dimly lit, but clean, Chopper notices at once. He's always close enough to the ground that ‘clean’ is both important and appreciated. Chill air pushed and pulled across the establishment, hotter air being a drastic change around the Barkeep’s shoulders, but Chopper didn’t feel that. As a result the room was a sharp cold, like a draft that wouldn’t go away. Well… it didn’t bother him – not with his natural fur coat, in fact, his aching skull was grateful for it. Attempting to sit up without the world turning upside down was tricky, and took a long time. The weight of his own antlers pulling at his skull made it ten times worse and the light! Even though it was dim... he screwed his eyes shut.

“When did it get dark? What day is it?” The Zoan asked wildly, trying to remember what he had been doing, and why he wasn’t with his own nakama right then.

“Couple hours.” Chopper felt a damp towel on his shoulder. He took it and buried his face in it. “First night, Ball 'll be starting, soon as the Owner gets back with Kibo’s Heart.”

“Ball?” bemoans the little reindeer, his ears put back as he rubbed furiously at his eyes with both hooves.

 

### Benn Knows

### ~~~~*~~~~

Diamond Jozu stood on numb legs, rooted to the floor while his head spun. A drunken veil, a sheen over his eyes that made colors and little lights swim about in the courtyard below. He watched it, the dance of the visual world merging in on itself as he stood there staring out the window of his rooms.

Heavy wool curtains were pushed to one side of the sill, folds of excess fabric bunched up in a soft pile on the floor. The almost-darkness of Kibo’s early nightfall still did not feel right to Whitebeard’s Third Division Commander, even after all these years visiting the island. The magnetics too, pushing and pulling relentlessly on the edges of his senses like an itch he just can’t scratch.

Jozu took a long drink from the sake bottle he held loosely in one hand. The clear cold liquid sloshing loudly as he tipped back a mouthful, wiping wet lips with the back of his hand. Behind Jozu, his rooms were dark. The broad man having not been bothered to light any candles or lamps, as he would not be in his room long enough to enjoy them.

The commander bit his lip, contritely admitting that keeping his word to a friend is more important than those five Autumn Island princesses –. He could have them all on his arm if he wanted to. Long silky hair of five different colors, and five different pairs of lips and eyes – five different sets of arms, with silky smooth skin…

But then, the man wasn’t just a friend.

He was his brother… Family…

… he had been, Nakama.

Eye’s falling away from coal-grey cloud at that chilly window, Jozu turned. The Rodger was quiet. So quiet it was almost eerie, the Third Division Commander could hear every floorboard that moved throughout the thousands of other rooms. He heard every whispering door, every *clack and *tink of that cranky elevator. He heard footsteps and brash conversations. He heard swords being sharpened and leather being stretched. Listening just then, he heard Marco and Ace whispering in the hallway just outside. before the door to Marco’s room opened and closed.

Jozu drained all the sake left in its bottle, gripped it tightly by the neck, and shattered it at his feet. He reached for another bottle, another among many in a sack beside his bed. Gaze fixed on a solitary chair in the corner of his room. Jozu’s fingernails flash as they transform to diamond, flicking the seal, he lifts sake to his lips.

A cold current sweeps the room, raising goosebumps across both arms. Some draft or some stray wind finding its way in from outside. Kibo was famous for those, Jozu reminisced. But no matter which way the wind happened to be blowing, the cold was arguably more vicious this year. In fact, he couldn’t remember a Carnival to date that had felt colder… and booze cannot drive away all evils, after all.

The Third Division Commander wanders away from the window, feet crunching on broken glass strewn across the carpet while weaving between other chairs and the bed. It doesn’t bother him, the glass, why would it? Standing before the chair, Diamond Jozu picks up the object Pop’s had left there. A tall steel cylinder made of some grey metal. It’s decorated with small writing etched in thin bands on either end, while the mid-majority of the container had been dedicated to an array of picturesque cherry trees. With the bend of each tempra a new glitter finds a way in to capture the faint bluish light filtering in from outside… ‘Oi, Jozu…’ Jozu can still hear his voice… “Oi…”… Like it were yesterday.

 

~~  
‘Oi, Jozu, you know what?’

You’re drunk as hell, sitting next to Thatch on a bar stool. You’ve been celebrating… and so have Ace and Marco – Oops! There they go over the bar again, and… yes… this time they’re coming up without their shirts…

‘… dumb to think that way, so when I die, I want my ashes scattered to the wind.’

A smirking barkeep pours a full glass of ice water over Ace’s shoulder where orangey fire had begun to crackle into existence without his notice. Your freckled nakama shrieks quite magnificently, and you return your attention to the booze, pretty sure that you’ll have a headache tomorrow. Ace and Marco’d already managed to light a few sets of curtains on fire around you, and the staff had declared war! The waitresses were all in on it, taking turns putting them out. ‘What are you talking about, Thatch?’ you ask, slugging back one more shot.

‘When the world ends for me, and I – and I die…’ The chef was quiet, and somber – Hard to bloody hear over the racket Marco was making on the floor with Ace.

‘Damn. Blue. Chicken…’ Thatch mutters. The man beside you licking his lips before tipping back another drink. After lowering his glass with a heavy *clunk on the tabletop he throws a handful of peanuts at Marco and Ace. ‘Get a room, you horny bastards!’

You can see that the pompadour commander is smiling, and after Marco lets Ace up off the floor they sit down and begin to drink again. Thatch is shaking his head beside you without a word. Taking shots and wiping sticky brown liquor from his chin with the back of his hand. ‘Why’s that, Brother?’ is all you can think of to say.

“Mmm?”

~~

 

Jozu’s long stopped trying to hide his tears since Thatch’s death. He can feel the warm salty trails down both cheeks, leaking into his beard. Soaking his shirt collar. Taking a few deep breaths, he slips Thatch’s urn into one of the deeper pockets of his coat.

**

Dracule Mihawk’s cheeks were just about the right degree of ‘burning’ when he and Shanks left the last pub on the way out of the Curios District. They’d stopped at about every other block while crossing the city, having tea or sake or beer. Always more beer, please… some rum and whiskey… beer… oh, we forgot wine! … The result was it took about the same amount of time it always took them to get to Hope’s Museum (too damn long). Standing there in the cold, the Museum loomed. It is the largest structure on the northwestern corner of the city, sitting slightly removed from all the other buildings dotting the outskirts. Built of a redish stone with low, sweeping roof. Behind it was an open field, snowy white and broken by nothing until Hope’s Wall reared up with its hoary, shadowy facelessness that keeps anything and everything both out and in.

The Shichibukai shivered for a cold blast of frozen air from over that open expanse of ice, further dropping the temperature of the air with each step. His shivers changing to shudders when that wind was followed by a smooth warm slide as Shanks’ arm slips around his back. His own fingers clutching at the one-armed swordsman’s hip-sash.

“Are you cold, Hawkeyes?”

Duple gold irises swivel onto the redheaded Yanko, eyes flying wide when the other man meets his gaze with steady, unimpaired clarity. It took two steps to unhinge them, and Shanks fell flat on his ass in the snowy street.

“How the HELL are you sober?!” Mihawk rages. He bends for a few handfuls of snow, rubbing slush into his face in an effort to force a little sobriety back into his guts. Fuck if he was going to be caught dead drunker than SHANKS! All these devil fruit users on Kibo, and *he has to get the devil’s own luck?!

Yonko Shanks chuckles in his throat as he sits in the snowy street, lips stretched in a smile. He pushes back towards a bit of fencing near the road, and leans his back against it. Red locks lying messily over most of his face. When Dracule blinks his eyes open, he sees that the other man has produced a flask. Little stopper hanging from a fine tarnished chain. It clacks against the belly of the metal when Shanks offers, and Mihawk just looks down his thin nose at him before he accepts, sweeping himself down to sit with the other man on cold cobbles.

“You ready yet?” Hawkeye asks gently, tipping back the liquor. He coughs right after he’s swallowed, *not knowing it was Roo’s home-brew.

Shanks eyed the shape of the museum under dark clouds, four wide stone pillars supporting the cathedral entrance. The structure itself was not all that big until further back, and then it was enormous. It’s sloped roof more like a bent pancake – encouraging the impressions of an enormous turtle. Along each side ran shallow buttresses, their combined strength holding up who-knew how many tons of snow. Light spilled from these wings, and several queues had begun. Here the crowd was nothing like the main fair, here was quiet, restful, maybe a little sacred?

Shanks pushed himself up out of the snow on one arm, Roo’s flask secured in a coat pocket. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this with me.”

Mihawk glowered at Shanks, biting cold creeping up his back. Each considerably sharpened feature on the Shichibukai’s face suddenly serrated. “You wouldn’t make it ten feet without someone holding your ass up, Shanks!”

“Owh, oi, you don’t have to shout…” The red headed captain pouts before moving deftly out of the other man’s peripheral vision, winding himself at Mihawk’s back. Two outer layers, and at least four inner ones, separated the two men… but then, they had never needed much in the past either. Mihawk’s turns for Shanks’ weaker left side when one leg wraps around at the sword master’s hip, and each simply falls against the other.

“I don’t wanna go in there yet.” Shanks growls into Hawkeye’s collar, discretely rutting against the other and speaking as quietly as he can, because there are people walking all around. Thank the Sea Gods for winter wind.

“What the hell, Shanks?” hisses Mihawk, both thumbs catching the redhead hard in the ribs, and Shanks nearly vomits for it. “We are over, you know? I don’t love you. Why do you keep doing this?”

The Yonko smirks, stretching a smile that pulls at the scars etched over his left eye. To this day Mihawk has not forgiven him for not telling him how it happened. And when he'd come back all those years ago missing an arm...

Shanks walks forwards, steadily, soberly, damn him! Stopping just shy touching chests with Mihawk. “Why do you keep coming back for more?” Whispers the taller of the two men. Glancing from side to side, Shanks chances a peck to Mihawk’s bent beak-nose.

“Won’t your cabin boy be jealous?”

“Benn knows the rules.” Shanks declares, wandering towards the Museum structure. Dracule put his head in his hand as Shanks veered left, heading towards the crowds and not through them.

**

“Ooohoo! Zoro! Zoro! Zoro-Zoro! Check this out~!”

Zoro rubs both palms into his eyes, clutching at the short fringes of his green hair while his captain's running around like a man who is both mad and on fire. Benn had brought both of them out of the Main Fair, east towards the Royal district and just a little further up than the kitchens, to a man who he said would be able to dress them for the Ball.

“Arms out if you would, please, master Roronoa.”  
For what felt like the fiftieth time, Zoro extended his arms mutely to the side for the tailor to attempt in getting his measurements. “What’s the big deal about this Ball anyway?” he asks Benn, the older man leaning up against the doorframe with one leg pulled up, dragging calmly at his cigarillo while Luffy runs around and around and up and down stairs in the shop just behind the fitting area.

“It’s an old custom, best not question why it’s there and move on.”

Zoro quirked an eyebrow at the odd answer. The tailor, a man with long white-blond hair and a decided limp, clapped his hands. “If you would send in your partner? And will the two of you wish to dress in coordination?”

Staring blankly at the smiling shop owner, Zoro was starting to get a bad feeling about all of this. “Erm~” was all he was able to say.

The bell over the shop door tinked loudly, saving Zoro from having to answer the tailor for a brief moment as someone entered as all three of them listened.

“Luffy?”

“Oi, Usopp!”

“Oi, Luffy, get down from - wHOO!”

Zoro, Benn, and the tailor all made their way out onto the main floor to find a mound of clothing, boas and feathered hats, coats, and shoes…. And in the very center of everything was Luffy, straw hat still on his head and smiling like he’d just solved the problem of finding the perfect warm place to sit.

“Aye, Yasopp.” Benn extended his arm to his nakama, clasping hands, and Yasopp just felt the slightest of tremor in his first mate’s grip.

Usopp ran to try and disentangle his captain from the wreckage. Zoro just standing there, slightly wondering how and where Luffy would have fallen from to have all that land right on top of him, unless…

“Did you want to try on ALL of those?!” The Strawhat swordsman shouts over Luffy’s low whining that he’s stuck, and something’s poking him.

“Yea!” Luffy’s Shi-shi-shi-ing to himself again, feigning or truthfully ignorant to the sound of low-but-building fury coming out of Zoro. Usopp heard it. He’d spent a long time being afraid of his green haired nakama, and though they’ve know each other, and he doesn’t necessarily ‘fear’ the man as much now as then, he’s also not dumb enough to get near Zoro when he’s making that noise. Luffy’d gone on to pulling out hats and other things, chattering away about dancing and a buffet that a bunch of kids told him about, when Zoro turns a violent shade of red… and simply... does nothing. Zoro's fists release, the fingers of his right hand running softly over the hilts of three quiet swords. The blond tailor taps on his shoulder and Zoro turns to discuss whatever it is the Shopkeep needs him to.

Usopp blinks.

“Donno what Hawky was talking about.” Muttered Yasopp, just as his son shakes his head and returns to the task of unearthing his captain. Luffy hadn’t noticed that Zoro hadn’t (or had never been) listening, and instead directed his fashion logic upon Usopp while the long nosed man unwound strings and belts and ‘How did you even get this on?’

Benn hands his shipmate a cigarillo and chuckles. “Have they checked in at the Museum yet?” he asks airily, letting out a long breath of yellow smoke. He likes this establishment, and not just for the quality of goods, because he lets him smoke inside. Not a lot of establishments do, so he considers it a luxurious thing.

 

### Yarn, Cards, and Booze

### ~~~~*~~~~

“Very good.” Says the Tailor, nodding and adding color preferences and neck size to the ledger in his hands. “If you would kindly wait here, while I see to your partner.” A subtle crash from behind them causes Zoro’s left eye to twitch. Benn slowly clapping. Yasopp’s mouth simply falls open.

“Hold still!!” Usopp’s shouting, both hands occupied in attempting to get his captain out of a… he couldn’t believe he was seeing this… Luffy was stuck inside a ball of yarn… and that’s a freaking lot of yarn.

Yasopp pulled a flask from his jacket and handed it to Zoro without taking his eyes from the proceedings out on the floor. “I was going to give this to Luffy, but you might need it more.” he jibed, half chuckling when his son fell flat on his long nose when an over excited Luffy attempted to extricate himself from the threads and garments by tangling them instead to his sniper, then stretching one arm up to the balcony and rocketing away. Needless to say it didn’t work.

“Thanks.” The green haired man sighs as he gratefully accepted the liquor. He weighs it in his hand for a moment before tipping back a mouthful. It burns in a strong kind of way, and he’s not sure he’s had stronger. Sudden warmth radiates from his insides out, and for a split second Zoro’s impressed… Then he’s drunk as shit.

“Good stuff, aye?” Yasopp’s chatting, watching the chaos of limbs and clothes. He knew the Tailor wasn’t bothered. He never kept anything he was very worried about up here in the main showroom. He tips back a swig from his own flask, smacking his lips with one hand on the door frame. “Roo makes it.” Zoro nods slightly, half hearing what Usopp’s father was saying. His attention is fixed on the scene before them as well.

Luffy had managed to wind himself further into the mess, Usopp shouting, peeling off some layers, but it was like taking away one to be replaced by six. Zoro’s head swam just a little, and then it was like a lock clicking into place. The swordsman takes a small swig more from his flask, feeling the rush right into his guts before stepping forward and kneeling so that he can take Luffy’s chin in his hands. Usopp fussing to get away on Luffy’s other side, hands and feet wound up in everything.

For a moment nothing moves, and Zoro can feel Luffy’s heart beating against his fingertips. Both his captain’s chocolate-brown eyes trained on his jade, half closed and gazing back at him though slight lashes. Luffy ceases to struggle, and all the strings and bits of fabric simply fall off him in a heap.

Zoro grins, leaning in right into Luffy’s space to whisper into his ear. “You still want to take me to the Ball, Sencho?”

Strong, tanned fingers leave Luffy’s chin to track lightly across the younger’s face, caressing the skin under his left eye where his scar stood out on smoother skin, setting off lights and sirens in their wake. Luffy’s pulled his knees up under him to keep from melting into the floor, and having him there, on hands and knees…“Y-yea.” His captain breathes into the nape of his first mate’s warm neck, nudging three golden earrings with his nose. “… wanna dance with Zoro…”

Luffy's breath his hot against his first mate's neck, skin prickling with the thought of future sensations promised. Each man slightly tilting their chins, bringing their lips together in effortlessness. Zoro's forgotten that there are people standing all around them. All that mattered were the slow moments pushing further in time he spent with his Sencho.

Zoro allows Luffy to rock back, begrudginly breaking their kiss. “It’s your turn.” He says, voice rough with arousal.

For a minute Luffy’s quite, numb. Hot and uncomfortable in an entirely different way than before. “Kay.” He exhales, and when does manage to rip his eyes away he finds himself trembling.

**

“Captain?”

“No.”

“Sencho~”

“No!”

“You can’t hide in there. The carnival’s eight days long –”

“I’m not going with Olive!” Law shouts through the closet door. The letter from ‘that woman’ sat open on their coffee table. Inviting Law to be her escort. The thin man’s shoulders hulk back into several thick fur coats, covering his face with his hands in the dark. He’d met her before. He’d *never be allowed to forget it as long as he lived! It wasn’t that she wasn’t good looking. She was tall, with an affinity for feathery hats if he can remember right. She had pale green hair and white, straight teeth. Her looks had gotten her out of Impel Down, he’d heard. No. It wasn’t that. It was because she was dumb as a bag of frigid rocks.

“I’m sure she won’t make bread pudding if you invite her to stay over this time.” Jabbed Penguin, gasping for laughing. Bepo glared at him for even bringing it up.

“You gatta go to the Ball, Sencho~” Called Shachi from where he had stacked up the eighth stone on their coffee table. Elbow cocked to the side at an angle. He didn’t need to stand by the closet to know his captain’s locked himself well in it. “Unless you want to go STAG?” Shachi paused, gently removing his hand from the ninth stone. His breath even and slow as his arms fell to his sides. Nothing moved, until the brunette blinked. Craning his head back, he catches glances with their navigator, Bepo. “Is that allowed for Pirate Captains?”

“I will end you!”

“Love you too, Captain.” Shachi kissed the air. Trafalgar Law may be a wanted man. Some terrifying pirate… but when your threats are muffled by a closet door they seem less grand somehow.

Penguin slumped into an armchair in front of the coffee table where the brunette was working with his rocks, watching meticulously at this skill of the other man’s that he himself does not possess. His nakama quietly and patiently locating just the right place to balance pressure between burden, position, and solidity. How that careful and fluid determination made subtle chances to the brunette’s eyebrows, especially in the forehead, where faint lines had already begun to form.

Bepo remains by the closed closet door, both thick furry arms crossed across his chest. He had seen Law’s various moods since arriving on the island, the tip and fall in the Surgeon of Death’s health. He was not disposed to just wander away from the his captain until something gave. Call it an animal instinct? Whatever it was, was actually wholly known (and watched for) between Penguin and Shachi. The three of them having been around Law the longest, after all. They have an added benefit of having actually known the man a while, something the rest of the crew didn’t have as much of. Law didn’t give away copious amounts to work with, to anyone. He’d much rather brood and brood. If Shachi would be honest with himself, Law had been brooding since the moment they met. But he wasn’t as good at reading the danger signs that Bepo did. He’d just understand when Law was going to do something drastic, the albino bear felt it in his guts, like a tight spiral – like his captain’s own ability.

“Go STAG. What could it hurt.” Shachi grumbled, picking up the next stone and searching for a new sweet spot, this time between two nearly vertical inclines.

The closet door clacked open and Law emerged, his hair all stuck up at the front. Honestly, if he didn’t wear his hat, there would be nothing to keep that wild, black hair down.

“What?”

“I-…” The Heart captain looked lost, disoriented. He was no paler than usual, and his eyes were open, but he just seemed lost. On the edge of a solid thought without being able to grasp it. “I’ve got to go to the Tailor’s and get my suit.” He muttered, checking his pockets. Bepo’s hackles rose, but he was otherwise silent.

“…didn’t mean to drive you off.” Shachi placed his last stone before carefully pushing himself from the table so as not to disturb its balance. “Oi, Sencho.” He said, standing up and stretching back his shoulders, pointing both thumbs at himself. “Wanna go to the Ball with me?”

**

Waiting for Luffy to be measured when he kept squirming around and asking about the weird kinds of measuring tapes and pins the old Tailor used was like waiting without sight of an end. Zoro could swear they had been there for hours already, and he kept shuffling his feet back and forth with a bored ache that had settled right at home about the same place where his katana met his hip. Oddly enough, he thought, he didn’t look like the only one suffering.

“Kings.” Benn placed down three-of-a-kind, and the round goes to him. Zoro’s pair of Aces having been a letdown. “Deal ‘em again, Yasopp?”

Usopp’s dad was nothing like Usopp himself. Zoro observed. The older man had blond dreadlocks, a few pale scars across his nose, probably from an animal. Thin veins of ruined flesh tracked down a weathered face. And for a sniper, he wore no goggles or other contraption that Usopp was always so chatty about. How necessary it all was. Yasopp was calm. More calm than quiet. One of Benn’s cigarillos held between his lips. He appeared solid, a pillar, and right now, Benn was leaning pretty heavily upon him.

“Suppose I should just get back to the Red Hawk.” Benn muttered, swigging down from his flask.

“Don’t do that.” Yasopp encouraged, continuing to deal all around. A heavy crash sounded from the fitting room, followed by a shrill apology, then another crash. “If you don’t go to the Ball, all those little princesses from Dreamdora would be so hurt!” Tapping the excess cards on the edge of the counter where they were playing, the Redhair Sniper chanced a smile.

Benn rolled his eyes, swallowing another mouthful of Roo’s whiskey.

“When, ah,”

Zoro was fiddling with the cap of his flask when Usopp spoke, the younger’s hands shaking, and it appeared he was already *facing the door to run away. “When did you and Luffy…” He absolutely could not say anything else. No! He was dreaming a REALLY fucked up dream. It didn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Hahaha! Right, sure. He just dreamt it all. It’s just a dream!

That’s such relief.

“ ‘Couple days ago.” Zoro flat-lined, picking up cards off the polished wood as Yasopp dealt them.

Well… So much for it all being a dream…

**

“I’m just saying, we could leave clothes other places besides just here in the room.” Ace reasoned, hands in the air while leaning against the edge of his and Marco’s bed.

Marco ground his teeth together, taking count of what he had in his dresser. Ace didn’t like wearing his clothes, and he hated wearing Ace’s; a height difference of almost six inches being the culprit. “We need to learn to NOT burn up all our clothes when we - …” Portgus D Ace had never seen such a shade of red wash so beautifully across his lover’s face. Well, maybe that one time, but it was that *perfect night he’s always trying to top. The freckled man grins, leaning back on one arm.

“When we what, Marco?” asks the user of the Mera Mera no Mi, relaxing both thighs and resting back on the mattress so that they slip just so slightly open. Every sharp line of Ace’s muscled body catches the low light filtering into their room from outside, window open onto the early night with the fair underway in the courtyard below. Marco’s eyes come around, only to be absorbed totally in the sight of Ace spline on their bed, nakedly stretching his arms over his head and closing his eyes to hum against the comforter.  
“You think Maggie would do me another pair of those boots?” Ace wondered aloud, draping one arm over his eyes and grinning up at the ceiling. “You remember, Marco? That pair with the extra thick treads that didn’t wear down, no matter how many times we slid into home-base at the Davy Back Fight?”

Marco could remember. Like it were yesterday.

Closing the dresser drawer Marco goes to Ace, lowering himself onto their bed. His weight shifts the fire user so that the younger is clutching onto him, and he’s running blunted fingernails through the darkest of dark hair. Counting freckles in the light of his own white-blue radiance, feather touches brushing Ace’s cheek, while he wonders if there really are more there than there were the last time he did this, up on the mizzenmast platform – back before they fell in love – back when they were *falling in love.

“I’ll ask her.” The blonde assures Ace, trailing feathery fingers down the other’s spine, and back up again. Petting him. Ace moves and Marco leans back on the pillows instead. Ace quietly hovering over him, eyes darting everywhere – drinking in the fine display of musculature that was Marco’s entire body. He’s just brought a hand up to kneed and message one tightly woven thigh, when he pauses. Marco’s tattoo, dead center of his chest and expanding across nearly his entire torso. Ace loves this tattoo, he loves to lick and lavish the sweet outlines of healed ink. Loves pouring oil onto it just before he takes his Phoenix. He especially loves to hear Marco’s voice when he does.

“I’d like that.” Ace breathes, bringing his hand around to grasp the older. Rolling each testicle in the smooth palm of his hand, lips kissing Marco’s half hard length to life.

Even when he isn’t in his Pheonix form, Ace enjoyed making Marco sing. Enraptured, to look up from where he’s taken his lover down his throat and seeing him biting down his own lower lip. Marco tastes the harsh wash of salt and metal slick across his tongue when his lip splits. Opening his eyes he catches just a glimpse of azure fire flick into existence, healing the wound in a literal flash. “Ace.” He breathes, a low hiss following after, and he’s reaching forward.

Ace’s slate-grey eyes have never left the blonde, mesmerized behind black lashes. Marco found counting freckles slightly more difficult when the younger took down his considerable girth. Ace didn’t gag anymore, not like he used to. He’d learned so many things about Marco over the last couple of years. Knows what he likes, but since they are in the hotel, flames are out of the question. So, if not flames…

Marco strokes the backs of his fingers down his lovers’ cheek, distended with him still in his mouth. Funny that it did not detract from his smile. A few licks more, and Marco’s gasping brokenly. That’s when Ace’s lips come free any contact, shifting into a kneeling position between the other’s legs. Once situated, kissing the older and exchanging small slight words only they would be able to interpret, Ace gathers both of their swollen erections together in his hands, pumping slowly as he takes the other's lips in his. Devouring every note in the song that manages to escape his phoenix’s delicious lips.

 

### Gathering

### ~~~~*~~~~

To say Sanji was pissed off would be accurate. He was fucking LIVID. How *dare that Old Fart shoo him out of the kitchen once the appetizers’ prep had been sorted? What about the soup? The buffet items – what about the desert bars, and all those lines of specialty orders? What kind of bullshit was it that he ‘hasn’t proven himself on Kibo’ so HE CAN’T cook a main dish in Hope’s Kitchens? WHAT THE HELL?!?! The Strawhat chef took a kick at a drift of snow, only to find that it wasn’t a drift, but a stone decoration covered in an obscuring layer of white ice.

The vibrations that ripple up Sanji’s leg rattles his entire skeletal structure and he curses, trying to dig out a cigarette in the cold. It was poor consolation that Zeff had informed Sanji of the Ball, and told him to go out and find himself a date for it. Lady’s man that he is – of course he would want to take some beautiful item to a grand dance and lavish her with affection…. But the conquest would’ve tasted a lot sweeter had he been allowed to prepare the banquet with all the other goddamn chefs on the island!

Managing to light his cigarette was a small victory, standing in an alleyway with wind rushing up and down every wall. Flicking his brass lighter shut, Sanji took down a long drag. The cigarettes on Kibo tasted richer than those they had gotten on Sky Island, and much more bitter than the flavors in Alabasta. It left almost a freshness on his tongue, similar to mint. He wasn’t sure if he preferred the difference, but he stored it away in his vast array of plait sensations regardless. Every taste was a treasure, after all. He shook his blonde head, teeth biting a little too aggressively into the filter of his smoke, but it hardly mattered.

Turning to walk away in an aggravated huff he’s bowled over by another body colliding into him, nearly knocking the unawares cook into the snowy street.

“Oi! Watch where the hell –”

A woman knelt there, after having pushed herself up out of the frozen powder – she had fallen down when they ran into each other. Midnight black hair swaying just over her shoulders as she reaches up one hand to adjust her glasses.

“M-my apologies, madam.” Sanji stammers, gracefully bowing and stepping closer. “Are you injured?” he asks concernedly when the woman takes a shuddering breath. When her eyes come up Sanji it hit with a Sea Train of recognition. It had been a while, a good long while, but he prides himself on never forgetting the face of a beautiful woman.

“You’re one of the Strawhats.” Tashigi growls.

The cook blanches at her tone, heady and deadly all at once. Her opinion not so much of a surprise, the woman is a marine. “Is that offensive to you, my lady?” he asks smoothly, lifting the white shaft of sweet tobacco to his lips.

“Pirates are scum.” The Master Chief, Petty Officer spits out, fingers itching at Shigure’s dark green wraps.

Sanji eyed Tashigi’s gloved fingers in the early-darkness of Kibo. Every slight tremor that longed to draw that deadly meito and end him. Not that he thought she could. “Everywhere we go,” he says, a puff of smoke appearing around his face. “Islanders, merchants, marines… hell, even other pirates. They’re forever telling us that we’re trash.”

“You ever think they might be right?” sniped Tashigi, bending to pick up something that had fallen in the road when she fell.

Sanji, quick as his trained reflexes would allow, bent and lifted what turned out to be a clothing bag. He weighed it in one hand before draping it over his shoulder. “A lady should not have to lug so much weight down snowy streets in the dark.”

Tashigi’s beetle-black eyes bore back into Sanji’s pale blue. “Are you saying that ‘ladies’ are weak?”

“Not at all.” Sanji says, a final puff of sweet smoke escaping his slightly parted lips. He flicks the remains into the snow, so thick he cannot see where it’s landed. “Only that a woman’s strength does not need to be stretched any thinner than it already is.”

**

Sabo walked arm in arm with Nico Robin, huddling close for both warmth, and to be heard over the whistling of winter wind. Robin had agreed to accomanpy the Revolutionary Soldier after arranging to have the book she’d obtained at the Museum delivered safely to the ‘Cheap Hotel’ near the edge of the Curios District. On the way they spoke mainly of their comrades, or old events that’ve shaken the world. Both of them equally curious of the mysterious Void Century, though neither near to solving it. Robin was surprised to find that the Revolution knew everything that happened on Ohara – even more surprised to find out that there had been a detail out looking for her since the day she vanished twenty years before.

“An informant gave us your whereabouts, after you escaped from Ohara.” Sabo explained, pressing close to her to adjust the collar that had been blown down by the wind. “How did you escape, anyway?” he asks, a sly grin. “I’ve read the reports before, no one knows how you did it.”

Robin remembers Saul as she’s staring up into swirls of grey snow, a dark bluish-whiteness of this frozen island. “I did have help.” She told Sabo. “But I’m not going to tell you how.”

“That’s cheating.” Sabo tells her, nipping at the ear he’d whispered into.

 

Robin smiles, giggling as she clutches to Sabo’s strong arm. Conversation turns to comrades and current events – predictions of the end of the world, and so on. Sabo’s laughter echoes off the cold stone buildings and long eaves of sloping roofs as they make their way against the wind, up the street under sputtering oil-filled lamps that’ve already been burning or nigh on six hours. Many people were out on the street here, in fact the crowds were beginning to gather all over the city. Robin’s spine begins to tingle, and she’s suddenly afraid. Looking around at the vastly different structures on every side, intricate brickwork and unfamiliar fences. Statues were carved into doorways depicting greatness and tragedy. Sabo had brought her to a different area of Kibo, one pirates rarely frequented. The Royal District. Now, it is to be said, there was no outward aggression towards the historian, but for some reason the transition bothered Robin, looking around wildly for a moment before Sabo stops and allows her to gather her baring.

Sabo stood quietly, watching the quick puffs of steam escaping from the Strawhat historian on each exhale. It was impossible to hide your breathing out in this cold. He watched her come down from panic to wary anger, hovering there briefly with her arms crossed over her chest protectively. She had her eyes shut, frost and frozen tears sticking to her long black lashes. When at last she sighed sharply she simply nodded her head, opening her eyes. It was the saddest expression he had ever seen.

“I am sorry.” Robin breathes.

Sabo doesn’t necessarily hear her, but he reads her lips behind the swirls of snow, tracing her words along each smooth curve. He approaches her then, carefully gathering the dark haired woman inti his arms. Robin’s shivering, her teeth clacking together barely audible, but present. “Come on.” The blonde coos gently, and when he continues to move forward into the older woman’s space, he’s not met with resistance. “Where we’re going is’t far.”

Taking Sabo’s offered arm, Robin half leans against him as he helps her towards a sturdy door between two brightly lit eateries only a few buildings down. He opens the door leading her over the threshold before pulling it closed, a little bell tinkling over their heads.

Robin’s eyes take in the walls and many racks of fabric in the room they are in, the pungent scent of machine oil and wool on the air. The fear that had seized her had completely vanished, leaving her only with the sensation of having run a long distance, but she was quickly recovering that. Crossing her wrists, Robin blooms an arm over several fabrics, absorbing their feel and quality before vanishing them in a slight of rose petals.

“I would never be able to afford a dress, I’m afraid.” She says, turning towards her escort. “And you did say before that the revolution does not make a man wealthy.”

“A man would not adorn their treasures with mud, or throw food when it can be eaten.” was Sabo’s reply, taking Robin’s hands and directing her towards the silks and furs and hanging bolts of new wool waiting to be made into gowns.

“The Ball is in two hours.” She playfully protested as the blonde danced around to stand at her back.

“Nico Robin.” Sabo’s chin is on Robin’s shoulder, before lifting and planting a single kiss just behind her ear. “Thank you for agreeing to attend the ball with me.”

For that moment, alone in the dress shop, Sabo just holds Robin, pressing his warmth against her back like a protective shell. He isn’t sure ‘she’ is exactly who he’s missing, but knowing another who misses the world just as much as you, is a rare thing on the Sea of Revolution.

“Ah, may I be of service?”

Sabo smiles as the clerk comes forward, taking Robin by one slender hand and leading her forward. “My lady has no dress for this evening, and I was told you were the best.”

**

Nami held her head still while Vivi adjusted her braids. She never usually went to all this trouble, especially since her hair was so short. But special occasions are special occasions, and Vivi knew many shorter hairstyles than Nami thought she had.

“I think it’s more bobby pin than hair…” Vivi’s grumbling, removing two pins and replacing them with a longer clip with a decoration of orange bobbles.

Nami’s dress was beautiful, and expensive, but beautiful. A pale pinkish orange shoulder piece that cascaded in different oranges until ending at her feet almost red. The skirt itself had eighteen layers made from a variety of warm silks. Fur lined white gloves on each hand, long enough to reach past the crook in her elbows.

They had received word of Luffy’s refusal, which took the strain off Nami having to color coordinate something. Though that left her with the misfortune of not having a date to the Ball at all.

“We can go together.” Vivi declared. “No one’s asked me either.”

“What about that prince from Arista-something? The one with a hundred ice lilies.”

The princess blushed furiously, finishing with Nami’s elaborate bun before hurrying over to her dresser where she produced several boxes of jewelry. Vivi came back and sat on the edge of the bed, her and Nami lying out the various works of art that had been given to the Nefertari family specifically for Hope’s Carnival and other royal events over the years.

“This one.” Vivi says, lifting a slim chain glittering with sapphires and diamonds. It went well with her dress of cobalt silk, flared at the back like a fountain of ice, with the whitest of white fur along the color and wrists. She had forgone full gloves, and instead had fingerless ones so that her rings, two on her left hand, three on her right, glittered in the light.

Nami stared at the sets of finely crafted necklaces, rings, and hairpieces. Fingers trembling slightly as she delicately lifted a golden tiara, and along with that, nine inch long golden earrings shaped in solid gold hammered into long feathers, they brushed at pale her neck when she walked.

Vivi smiles, taking the tiara from Nami and sitting up behind her in front of the mirror as she put it on. “I wore these to a coronation once.”

“Your coronation?” Nami asks.

“No. I wore a half-veil then.”

Nami giggled as Vivi secured the tiara with its pin. “That sounds like a wedding.”

“It wasn’t a wedding.” Vivi hissed, poking Nami in the side.

For a while the two of them just sit in silence. The Ball just sounded exhausting, but Nami was about to leave and this would be the last time she saw any one of her nakama for five entire days. She had honestly planned on telling Luffy that at the Ball, somewhere public where she can expect him to behave if she gave him the news. She hadn’t expected him to decline her offer.

“Ne, Vivi?” Nami asks, moving her head from side to side admiring the braids that had been woven into a tight and elegant knot. “

“Mmm?”

“Why do you think Luffy turned me down?” Nami asks, and the more she thinks about it, the more it does actually bother her.

Vivi at first looked like she was going to laugh or make some light comment, but then she too closes her teeth. It just didn’t seem right to joke about it, not of Luffy. The two had often make insinuation when Vivi had sailed with them, of various noises they kept hearing disturbing their sleep, but it was never of Luffy.

“Maybe he’s…” Vivi pauses at the slow gathering of her thoughts. Nami simply waits. She can’t speak yet. “Maybe he already has a date?”

 

### Blood

### ~~~~*~~~~

Ace sat facing his lover, straddling Marco’s hips with his legs wrapped around the older; both hands trailing along his fine tattooed torso. The mythical Zoan working him in his hands, fingers slick with oil skittering across his length, fluttering blue flame in their wake. He knows that Ace can feel those slight bright licks of his phoenix ‘just so’ at the very core of everything.

“M-mar-co…” Ace moans brokenly, jutting his hips forward with desperate, youthful urgency.

“Shh, shhshh.” Marco is kissing Ace's neck, whispering, trailing one calloused thumb along the thick vein at his base. It was unfair! Completely unfair! Ace is gasping in spades. Marco just grinning up at him, pressing up against him. “Close your eyes - yoi.”

The Second Division Commander is about to comply. He’d do anything his blonde asked of him, whispering like that. He’d never refuse him anything.

*THuD tHud

Both men look at each other, Marco’s hands freezing instantaneously.

“Marco, Ace?” Jozu’s cavernous voice had no trouble making its way through the thin hotel room door – something these love-birds should really consider…

Ace watches the lines and forms of expression that wash across Marco’s face, like he’s forgotten something really important. The Logia hates these looks, because it almost always also means it’s ‘right now’.

“You don’t have to answer. You’re both loud as hell, and I agree with Ace. Leave some damn clothes up a tree or something.”

Ace grins widely, nosing Marco’s chin. The older squeezes Ace's still swollen cock in his hands, just to remind his freckled lover that he’s still so-very-vulnerable at the moment.

“I’ll wait in the lobby long enough to smoke a cigar, but I swear if you’re not there by the time I’ve finished, I’m leaving without you.” Jozu was about to turn his back on the closed hotel room door, when he remembered… “Marco knows, Ace. Ask him.” The big man’s shoulders turned, followed by the rest of his considerable mass, making his way for the lift and lobby beyond. No way in a sea dog’s ass is Jozu waiting around for those two. That’s even if they are coming at all.

At every floor the lift rattled a little. The building had shifted again, something that happened a while back too - a slight melt of the permafrost, if the Commander can remember right.

The Roger Hotel… Jozu’s first reaction to his Pop’s informing them that they would be lodging there was like many in the family, but despite that, that’s where they stayed. Again and again. They had eaten the food, danced and bought and wooed until even those most delicate advanced with a wild ferocity. It was like a weird second home.

Thatch had been the first of his brothers and sisters to warm up to his room. It was on the ground floor, with an exit both out the back door and the hall fire escape. Jozu chuckled to himself. They all owed Ace for that damn fire escape…

He sighs, lift clattering as it passed the second landing.

They had done so much. The Whitebeard Crew. Thatch, man who was both boxer and chef, had done... had meant... so much.

 

~

“I’m asking why you want to be ‘scattered to the wind’, as you put it.” You say, *thunking down your glass and refilling another for the man beside you. Thatch takes the cup between his thick fingers, all scratched up from the Sheer Climb. He’d lost, but that was alright. Ace and Marco won, and as long as someone in the family makes it, the Whitebeards get free booze.

“Why not.” Thatch sighs, sake slipping past his lips. “It’s just simple, I guess. No hassle. No awkward looks at my dead mug. I don’t want a *funeral, Jozu.”

You can’t quite guess where this is coming from, but then again Thatch is heavily wasted… it’s probably that.

“Promise me!” Thatch, suddenly all alive again, is there next to the bar, only a little wobbly. “Jozu.” Thatch’s scarred hands land on your shoulders, his breath reeking of booze. The man’s voice lowers, and he looks to the side. Everyone is busy making fun of Ace. Good. “The tower over there, you know.” He waved his hand vaguely as if they were prefect directions. “Scatter my ashes there.”

You’re already nodding, laughing… promising a dead man one final wish…

~

 

Never did Jozu think or fear that Thatch would have been dead not three months after that alcohol-lined conversation, or that he’d be back on Kibo to fulfill the promise he had made. The Third Division Commander had explained to Pops, and burned Thatch’s body on a deserted island in the New World instead of their standard burial at sea. Newgate had been keeping the ashes in his own quarters, until they had come to Kibo and entrusting them to Jozu. The Old Man had wanted a wake for Thatch, Jozu could tell, but he was their Pops. He’d respect their wishes, even in death.

When the lift doors chimed open Jozu found the ground floor to be blessedly empty. A few groups came and went, but they were on their way either to their rooms or back to the fair, so they didn’t linger in the cozy lounge where the commander sank into a wide armed easy-chair. Pulling a box of cigars from an inside pocket he clipped the end off one, and lit it. Soon a cloud of yellow smoke, earthy-smelling and thick, surrounded him. Broad shoulders settled back into the cushioned chair, feet flat on the floor, and just for this – this small moment, Jozu tried to think of nothing.

**

Marco unwrapped his fingers and leaned away from Ace, the younger shaking his head.

“No – no, no, no… Marco… What is it?”

Ace’s features pinch, eyes glistening as if he would actually shed tears for the loss of his lover from the circle of his arms. It was a look that tore at Marco, upsetting his stomach when he’s reduced to pushing his Fire User away so he can find clothes.

“Thatch wanted his ashes scattered on Kibo.” Marco tells Ace, pulling open his dresser once again. He can’t help but see the oh-so-happy bounce of his own engorged excitement, all awake and eager from the promises of sex. Too bad it wasn’t going to happen… not for a while.

Ace swallowed hard. He wasn’t just going to argue that *that wasn’t a good reason. “Okay.” He breathed, running both hands shakily through his messy black hair. “Okay. We’ll go.”

**

The shot ripped through the quiet night on the most eastern corner of the Dock’s District. Falling flatly on the air – quickly muffled by the island. But it had not been quieted nearly soon enough for others not to hear.

“Damn disgusting pirate.” Vice Admiral Doberman’s dark eyes slid from one side to the other without his body or chin turning at all. Fingers red and nearly numb, though they had only been exposed to the elements on the hilt of his katana for a few moments.

“I said no killing.” Sengoku snapped, braided beard collecting bits of ice and snow, making him look grey.

“What does it matter?” Yamakiji is smiling, bright shiny teeth clamped happily down on the end of his cigar. It’s his last one, but he’s heard good things about Kibo’s tobacco.

Momonga, dark mohawk showing up harshly through that snow on that pale bald head of his, takes a step towards the pirate that lay nearly perfectly disemboweled before him. He says ‘nearly perfectly’, because only *he can debone a pirate with 'proper precision'. The pirate lay prone in a nest of snow, the closer to him the redder that snow it was. His stomach opened expertly, bleeding freely while leaving his insides intact to spill out into the cold without removing their function.

“DAMN IT!” the pirate is screaming, his dark head flung back with guts twitching in the cold. Gold necklace pitched to the wayside from being ripped from his throat. Pistol out of bullets, and tossed to the wayside. No one is coming to save him.

“Kibo will get you for this!”

Sengoku, Momonga, and the other two turn to see a woman standing in the snow just beyond the bleeding pirate. She has pale skin, and is dressed in shreds of white. The reddest of red eyes looking down upon them with such sharpened hatred set deeply in the grooves of snow-white cheekbones.

“Kibo, eh?” Momonga gruffed out. “Who are you?” he calls, fingers slipping over the pommel of his sword. A new meito he’s acquired recently from some weak bastard. The commander had a love for breaking the swords he obtained, feeling the steel should pay for the crimes it committed at the hands of criminals, splintering beyond repair. That was the only way for these meito to be truly free from sin.

The white woman did not answer, and in the next gust of dry icy powder lifting into the air to block out anything to see; she was gone.

Blood from the wounded, soon to be dead pirate in the Dock’s District, soaked into the ground. Soaked between the cracks of closely-set cobbles, and into the dirt far beneath. Redness is seeping into permafrost, touching sensitive nerves that readily (and happily) remained dormant, but for when they were attacked by… Death.

Harry, sitting in his little bunkhouse off the main docks out to sea, felt the first tremor of anger tearing at Kibo's bedrock. Wolves were soon to be howling just behind The Wall. Weather those wolves were prey or hunters, Harry could not himself say that he knew. It had only happened two times before in his lifetime, the first when he was a young boy. The wolves were always the beginning, always, and then the island begins to change. Her teeth grow, and her reach extends. Worthy and Unworthy are always chosen on years that the wolves show their faces – not that such a determination is not made on other yeas, but always – always-always those with the story of wolves, are remembered. Songs are written about those years – like when Roger and Rogue were still alive.

The old dock-master shakes his old head, lifting a mug and peering out across a lightly rolling, icy sea. “This will be a year to remember, Roger, old son…”

**

“Ms. Nico Robin, how would this suit?”

Robin could barely contain the gasp that escaped her throat. A hand coming up to press against her own lips. Sabo stood at her side, one hand held possessively onto her opposite hip as she simply stares at the exquisite garment held by the Tailor. Said Tailor, Mr. Zuthwikki Jaguar D Symon, smiles gently, allowing the historian to take in every shimmer and shine of delicately embroidered beadwork. There is onyx from the North Blue Mines, pale aqua-jade from South Blue, and… and flat, slated opal.

Flat opal… the color of starless night...

A gem only found on Ohara.

Tears fell from the corners of Robin’s eyes as she passed a gentle touch over those little stones, woven in neatly between thick silk folds, so deeply black that it would do her beautiful hair justice. Symon drank in the look of pure appreciation for his work. He was enjoying this very much, having not told the sweet woman that it had belonged to Olivia, and she had left it on Kibo before she left – as many do, because they do not see anywhere else they would want to wear such finery. Because of this custom, tailoring shops are stacked thick with hundreds of hundreds of dresses and suites, and anyone who hasn’t’ claimed theirs for that year are apt to have it rented or bought outright. He knew Olivia would want her daughter to wear it, and ever since he had seen the wanted poster for the small child, he had made a decision. If Robin was anything like her mother, she would climb high, and come to Kibo someday. On that day, she would wear Olivia’s dress, and he had altered the snow-white silk for black; to match Robin’s hair and eyes that he had seen on the poster. To show the world the beauty born inside Ohara’s last known survivor.

“It’s wonderful.” Robin’s saying, halfway sobbing for the feel of the soft silken folds. Sabo brushes a soft kiss across her cheek.

“How much will that be?” Sabo asks, reaching for his money folder. He promised to behave on Kibo, no eat-and-runs as it were. Everything would be paid for.

“There will be no charge.” Zuthwikki Jaguar D Symon held up both hands, bits of measuring tapes wrapped around one elbow.

Robin gasped wetly, smiling up at the man.

“It is a pleasure Nico Robin, Sabo.” And bowing his head, Symon was backing away into the thick racks of suit jackets and hats, working his way through a variable forest of order slips still yet to be claimed for this evening.

Robin chose to change in the establishment, accepted Symon’s offer to have his wife come and style her hair. Symon’s wife was a woman who owned one of the top salons on the Royal Strip, and her skills were immediately grasped both by Robin and Sabo. Sabo himself bought a four piece suit, with blue with black collar and cuffs. Black opal was also found for the revolutionary’s cuffs and tie stud. After both were dressed and fitted, hair finished and standing side by side; Sabo’s eyes slipped sadly against Robin’s cheeks. High bones kissed with the lightest of blushes. Her eyes were pools of deep history, ready to leap into an inferno of truth, and to protect it fiercely. Robin’s slender fingers come up to brush Sabo’s blonde curls from his eyes. Blue irises, clear as a summer sky caught in her own deep gaze.

“Your special order, Sir.” Symon appears, almost out of nowhere, and places a shallow box down on the counter next to them, lifting its silken cover with a quiet flourish.

Sabo watches Robin’s reaction carefully, to see if she will be offended at the very idea, but he had not been able to work up the question into their casual conversations that evening. Robin didn’t say anything as she peered inside the black, fur-lined box. Gentle olive fingers reaching out to take hold of a delicate shaft, where on the end is a mask of light porcelain and feathers, gems dotting here and there. Each matched in totality with each their outfits. Robin smiles again, glancing towards the blonde revolutionary.

“Is this a Masquerade Ball?” Robin asks.

Sabo wishes he were that mask Robin was handling with her soft, feather-light touches that passes over and over again along the long feathers of her mask. His own was less elaborate, shorter feathers, but more of them. Blue in color to match his jacket, and covered slightly lower down his cheekbones, leaving his mouth exposed. “Only for us.” He says, even before he’s torn his eyes from slender knuckles, bending just so.

“Oh?” Robin lifts the rod, carefully resting the mask on the bridge of her nose. Its balance is perfect, the weight light. She would have the use of her other hand, and when she looked at the back of the porcelain there was an attachment to remove the rod entirely, and have both hands free.

“Revolutionaries.” Sabo says to Robin, lifting his own mask to his face, though its addition did not keep his eyes at bay. The ice-blue aura of Sabo’s stare washing over Robin completely as she leans into his warm chest. Their lips come together, in a brief understanding that both are at once a part of – and not a part of this world, but it is alright. Tonight they can be together, under the early darkness of Kibo.

Sabo didn’t know that only a few miles away, the Wild Wolves of legend were waking up – clawing at the boundaries of Hope’s Wall, hungry for an opportunity to feed their growing brood. Elated creatures, knowing that Kibo was angry with the new comers, and that was all the excuse they needed. They would become a welcome snack, and once it starts – it is loath to stop.

“Please enjoy your evening.” Symon bowed, accepting payment for Sabo’s mask and new top hat with a blue band around its base. The Tailor had barely closed the beli away in his till when he froze, eyes coming up to his front door.

He knew. From years of life on Kibo. He knew.

“May the luck of devils, protect us.” Zuthwikki Jaguar D Symon muttered as his patrons departed for the darkness behind his doors. He clasped hands, shivering from head to foot. Afterwards he rushed forward and bolted his door. He would open for customers, surely – it was the night of the Ball, for crying out loud! But he would not simply remain calm. Some rookies might not understand, but others would. This was no time to be idle in the city, not now. Who had done this? Don’t they know the rules?

It was the old days before Roger claimed Kibo’s Peace, long ago. The first Carnival in over three centuries to have not a single fatality. It was a challenge Shanks had yet to accomplish as guardian of Kibo, and he would miss out his chance again this year, it seemed.

Because there was already a death to be counted, and all other deaths will be tallied up. Observed on ranking boards to be bet upon, showing the worthy which way is to avoid – or, if they are strong enough, which path to charge forwards towards. It had been years since Vengeance had begun on the island, so long that Symon wasn’t entirely sure what the qualifications for Vengeance were– he’d have to ask Zeff tonight at the poker game.

 

### So Much Ill

### ~~~~*~~~~

Shanks suddenly stilled. A chill quiet pressing icy fingers against his very being. Eyes softening around the edges as he slowly succumbs to a total loss of impetus, and his right hand falls limp at his side. He was not the only one, not by far. Not in this place, Hope’s Museum. Dracule watched as faces turned, families gathering quickly together before hurrying away. He saw men afraid, some elated, and some that had obviously not noticed anything at all.

“It’s a shame…” The greatest swordsman in the world spun about, stumbling in his own boots, his left arm grasped by a larger man than he. Monkey D Dragon towered over Dracule Mihawk. Shanks looking on, just a few paces away.

Dragon addressed Shanks. “…that Justice is captained by fools.”

“Speaking ill of the Fools?” Shanks asks, more of a snarl than a question, and several locals turn. Marines, with wives or escorts in toe, simply evert their eyes. The frigid air flushed, and powder blew about their feet on a speaking wind. Every face cast over in apexes of shadow, the only light provided by small lanterns or strings with tiny bulbs.

Laughter barked out of the big man with his red-tattooed face upturned. The early evening had lasted all day, the clouds thick and dark. No stars could be seen through those clouds even now, but a *real nightfall was occurring in the world. Dragon could smell it. It was so much different than the unnatural night. He smiled for the scent of the tides changing. The magnetic pull to battle. Soon, the wash would come. Wheels turning for destinations of conflict and fame – and all the kinds of things that dreams are made of. “I would never.” Dragon, leader of the Revolution, bowed before the owner of Kibo, releasing Mihawk’s arm smoothly without sparing him a word or look.

**

Tashigi’s fingers were numb from the pressure of being balled into fists inside her gloves. Grinding her teeth behind closed lips, she walked stiffly on with this man… this filthy pirate! Sauntering smartly through the snow, Sanji carried the young marine’s evening dress, securely draped over one shoulder while he smoked through a shaft of minty tobacco. It really wasn’t that bad.

Sanji had walked up this same road that morning with his shitty old man, though at some point Tashigi led them down a smaller outlet, and he was in a new area he’d never seen. He kept expecting to turn a corner and see the cheap hotel where he and the other Strawhats had taken up, but he never did. The city was different, yet altogether not unlike any other street with shops and people.

Tashigi hung her chin as they wended and wove their way between all the foot traffic. Kibo’s docks were particularly crowded, and there were areas wherein Sanji stepped forward; elegantly opening a path and insisting she step ahead of him. Each time this happened, the young swords-woman bit her already sore tongue. How dare he presume she could not have found a way herself?

A low whistle escaped the blonde’s lips, a stream of silvery smoke right along with it. “And I though that Rodger Hotel was big…”

Bits of enamel tasted gritty as Tashigi swallowed them down. “The Dock Hotel services only respectable clients during Hope’s Carnival.” She glowered. “Accommodations are reserved every year for a full fleet.”

Sanji’s eyes hadn’t yet come off the high walls of the Dock Hotel. It was enormous, fifty levels at least, of rock and steel and glass. Intricate carvings lined keystones, and at each corner of the structure jutted woven brickwork. It might not have been the most beautiful building on the island, but it looked by far the sturdiest piece of architecture thus far – and that isn’t to say anything looked far from ‘permanent’ in this city of frozen darkness. “A hundred thousand, eh?” he asked, lip twitching up into a grin.

Tashigi stood next to this strange man, smirking up at the many windows blinking in and out as people moved about behind them. “Don’t get any funny ideas.” She hissed, and he finally looked at her. “Fighting is strictly prohibited during the Carnival.”

Sanji chuckled a bit, throwing the used butt into the snow. “Should steer clear of our mossy muscle brain then.” He muttered.

“What was that?” Tashigi ground out, leading the way towards the lobby doors, since it seemed her would-be-escort seemed fit to walk her to her very door!

“Oh, our swordsman, you know him. Big, ugly, mossy bastard. Likes to chew on swords. We always fight, so I should make a point to avoid him.” He smiled big and bright at the very thought, standing in front of the lift while Tashigi pushed the call button.

She reached a hand out for her clothes. “I’ll take my dress now, thank you.” She said, and it was only half a growl for all her efforts at composure.

Sanji didn’t hand the garment back, only leaned back on one leg and observed the irate marine. His nearly translucent blue eyes sliding over the white-gloved hand held out. How strong and firm was her slender arm Strong enough to swing that meito hanging off her belt. A sliver of skin was just visible between glove and coat-sleeve, exposing milky white skin to the soft lights of the Dock Hotel lobby. Perfect skin. “It would be rude, not to see a lady to her room.” The cook let slip out over his lips.

Tashigi scowled, dark eyebrows crinkling together, but before she can say one word, the lift arrived. Resigning herself, the marine led the way inside. Sanji stepping to her side. He faced forward, but she could somehow feel his eyes on her, watching her.

Fucking pirate…

**

Luffy felt the shift in Kibo’s magnetics, like he knew what that meant… It was like a knife sliding smoothly between two ribs. Slicing down deep into his guts to spill out his life right then and there – and that would be that. The rubber man had been alone in the back of the shop, ferretting around on the shelves and digging into old crates. Anything to distract him from the fact that he and Zoro were in the same space. It was driving him crazy. Seeing his swordsman, and not being able to touch him because they were in public…It was pure and utter torture! Luffy couldn’t explain why he couldn’t control himself. The last few days seemed like nothing but a blur, painting a weird picture that made the young Strawhat captain feel like things have ‘always been this way’… except that they hadn’t! Up until their arrival on the island, he and Zoro had fought and bled and lived together, sure. All of them had, the Strawhat Crew on the Going Merry. Happily, as nakama, following the log from one island to the next.

Luffy pitched forward, his straw hat slipping from his head, black tufts of unruly hair falling across both eyes. His face contorted with the pain radiated from somewhere inside. Letting out a long breath Luffy focused on the wall in front of him, steading himself with one arm on the wooden support that held up a long rack of suits. His teeth clacked together, and he ground them. Luffy’s lungs protesting at each attempt to take in air, and he clutched his free hand to his stomach. What was this awful feeling? Where did it come from? And… and this is more to the point: How does he make it STOP!?

**

Zoro’s left wrist thumped down on the Adam wood counter in the tailor’s shop, other arm resting on an old metal till polished to a gleaming shine. There was an empty shot glass held between the green haired swordsman’s slightly numb fingers. He wasn’t sure exactly when the drinking had started, somewhere between one card game or another. Now there were no cards, just drinks, open bottles and flasks. He didn’t know when it started, sure, and he didn’t care.

Yasopp let out a whistle when Zoro’s eyes came up clear as a bell.

“Strawhat first mate can take a hell of a lot more than that.” Usopp boasted, and for once it was no lie. There was no helping the drunk-sly grin that rippled across Zoro’s entire face, and Yasopp chuckled through his nose that was not nearly as long as his son’s.

In a flash, all the glasses were miraculously filled again with booze. Yasopp’s hands corking a flask and waving for everyone to pick up their respective cups.

“What do we drink to this time?” Usopp asked, swaying the glass ever so slightly.

“I picked last time.” Zoro announced, lifting the liquor to his nose. It smelled like hot oil, the thick dark liquid made by Lucky Roo of the Red Hair pirates.

“You do one, Benn.” Yasopp declares, gesturing solidly towards his nakama.

Said man was stiff as a board, back and shoulders locked in such a way that radiated a similar discomfort. Zoro had been feeling it, having been standing next to the other first mate since Luffy had run off into the back of the shop somewhere to play. It was some moments before Benn Beckman responded. Glass held immobile millimeters from his lips.

“What I have…” a ragged breath escaped his lips, a puff of smoke carrying out onto the air around the yellow light of the shop lamps. “What I have is not worth drinking for.” Benn utters, glazed eyes following the smoke as it moved, ebbing and flowing about the thick burn of oil hanging from one of the many crisscrossing beams above their heads.

Zoro shivered as the touch of frozen air found some way under his many layers to bleed down his spine. “Then we can drink to that.” He says, careful to hold his glass steady. For a brief moment Benn’s coal-black eyes landed on Zoro’s jade. The green haired man lifted his glass higher, “To all the things that aren’t worth drinking for.” And he downed the measure, feeling it burn, lighting fires in the nerves of his throat. Nerves that kept burning even after all traces were gone.

“Got-ta cheer up, Benn, lad.” Yasopp gasped after he’d drunk his share. “And you got-ta go! He’ll be expecting to see you.”

Benn scoffed. “Will he?”

“Where is he anyway?” Zoro asks, more to himself than to the three men standing around him.

“Where’s who?” Benn sighed.

“Shanks.” Zoro said simply, motioning for Yasopp to pour another round. “Seems odd that he’s not… around.” The swordsman spoke with a lot more care this time, considering he was talking about the man’s captain.

Benn’s dark eyes slid down to the countertop, fine grains of white Adam wood smooth under his fingers.

“Captain’s with Hawky.” Yasopp told Zoro, refilling the glass in front of him. Benn’s elbow jerked back as he swallowed down his drink before swiftly reaching for one of the fuller flasks on the table and unscrewing it. He looked like a man dying of thirst, but this was not water. Yasopp’s face laxed for a moment, observing the bob of Benn’s throat working to take down the burning spirits brewed on their own ship.

Zoro flicked back his drink and refilled it himself. Usopp doing the same across from him. “Mihawk.” The first mate muttered. “You said Shanks can beat him, didn’t you?” he asked Benn once the other man lowers the flask.

Benn gasped, taking in a deep lungful of air before turning slightly unfocused eyes onto Zoro. “He can.” Croaked the other first mate.

“So Mihawk is a rival of Shanks’?”

It was not lost on any of them, the black ire of Benn’s eyes swollen from booze. “Not exactly.”

“Hawky’d never fight Shanks now.” Yasopp said, still drinking and refilling whenever one of them had gone dry in their glass. “Not seriously. There was a time, though. What is it now, ten years ago?”

“Eleven.” Benn uttered, calloused palms pressed against his scared and pitted face. Benn has a small tattoo on his left hand’s pointer finger, black ink contrasting sharply from where it resided inscribed on sea-weathered skin. He let out a long sigh, lowering that same hand to the counter and staring at it like he didn’t know where he was. “They were lovers.”

**

Ace finished buttoning up his shirt, a long sleeved black thing with a high collar. Marco had found his lover a pair of denim pants, socks and boots. Not as good as Maggie makes, but they’ll do for the Carnival. The phoenix himself wore an open shirt of a soft beryl color, the same color as the warm sea of North Blue where he was born. The two had not said one word has they dressed, tucking away their needs for a time to observe respect for Thatch. Once fully dressed, Marco led the way out into the hall for the lift. On the way down they allowed each other an embrace, melding themselves together to share breaths until the bell chimed, and they were to return to their responsibilities.

Jozu’s head turned when the lift doors *pinged and opened. “You don’t have to come, you know.” He muttered as the two commanders came within ear shot.

Aced eyed the tip of the metal canister sticking out of the Third Division Commander’s coat pocket. His body was still reeling, still wanting to forgo everything so that he could simply be with his phoenix… but one look at the container that housed all that remained of their brother, Thatch. “Of course we have to.” Breathed the fire user. Marco squeezed Ace’s trembling hand.


	4. Desert Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highest Marine on Kibo. Tashigi won't scream, and the desert man comes forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece. All rights belong to Oda.

Fleet Admiral Sengoku walked stiffly, white booted feet sinking deep into frozen drifts that left subtle ridgelines across the road. Only here or there could the road actually be seen, briefly, before powder inevitably steps to that spot, covering what were only half-glimpsed grey cobbles behind a curtain of swirling powder. As he watched, it appeared that giant steps were being taken; blocking out the wind in steady pulses. 

Glancing from side to side at each soft, glowing window, the marine shivered. Many people were sitting or standing nearby; some leaning on stone walls that fenced in small open patios, or the odd open-roofed gazebo festooned in twinkling lights that lit up the snow from below. Frozen awnings wept long sickles frosted over with powder on one side. It had to have been five-below outside! 

Sengoku crossed his arms, pulling his mantle closer for a shrill of sharp wind that kicked at his face. Everyone was wrapped in scarfs and hats, coats, gloves, their breath becoming visible in front of them if they talked or laughed. A few circles of people, maybe five or three in the center, danced vigorously to the quick plucks of balalaika players seated on layer after layer of cushion and skins. Gloved hands clapping in the darkness. The entire street hums, flourishing on being right on the outskirts of the Main Fair, which at this moment is taking place in the square in front of the Roger Hotel. Yet there was a ring of it he could ascertain. Fear. His view of Kibo altered from others’ due to the dramatic spike in dread he failed to name nor identify. 

His attention turns to the men who have been assigned this mission with him. Vice Admirals Yamakiji, Momonga, and Doberman. They’re clomping moodily enough, just a step behind their Fleet Admiral’s shoulder, following after him like cold ghosts. Doberman picking at a spot on his chin. A deep crater of some old scar he’d received in some forgotten battle a long time ago. Everything that didn’t happen the day before was ‘a long time ago’ to him. His eyes swiveled from where they rested at the back of shadowy sockets. The frivolity on these backstreets confused him, as a man who primarily spent his time at Marine Headquarters located within the Triangle of Power where absolute control was made common by expectation. Marine HQ followed the strictest of laws. Justice proclaimed and raised to protect everything anyone should hold dear. 

Of course, there was nothing to indicate Marine rule here, on Kibo. “This place reeks like filthy pirates.” The brunette hisses, a stream of warm fog following closely after each syllable. 

“Bear with it.” Sengoku ordered, rubbing both temples between thumb and forefinger as they continued on. “I don’t need to remind you that Kibo is a load-baring presence in the world. The higher ups of Mariejois seem to think it might be a key stepping stone towards their most fortuitous project: the Bridges of Power.” 

“Does that make this visit special?” Yamakiji asked, grinning ear to ear. He was always smiling – the bastard. 

Sengoku was not disillusioned with his companions’ reputations. Yamakiji, one of the youngest Vice Admirals to be appointed under the World Government, had observed over a dozen Buster Calls in his career. A dozen islands successfully removed from all maps everywhere. The body count was unimportant to his appointment, having risen to power during the Great Pirate Era. Simply that he had been there, grinning, laughing the entire time, *elated at every single fall of steel shell digging into flesh or soil. Nothing lived again after the blind man comes to oversee that all is dead.

Momonga said nothing, teeth chattering behind pale closed lips. It had never been a secret that he didn’t like the cold, having grown up on a summer island in the New World. Nose ruffling, he knocks a bit of frost from his dark mustache, feet crunching in the snow in time with his agitation. “What are we doing here, Sengoku? He growls, glowering at anyone who dares meet his narrowed brown eyes. “Or are we to play stooge for that fucking Yonko.” 

Sengoku’s palm found its way to the lager man’s throat, fingers clamping down like iron vices. Several locals turned to look at what was going on. A hushed gabble rippled along on frozen air, and a few turn away. Children on the street were scooped up without a word, hurried along out of harm’s way. The Fleet Admiral watched some of them go. Innocent civilians… afraid of the Marines. “We are here for diplomacy, Momonga.” Utters the Fleet Admiral an inch from his subordinate’s ear. “Do you understand?” 

Momonga glares back at the officer who outranked him, just because he was a Zoan. Lips pursed tightly the Vice Admiral curses the other man’s existence. “Aye, Sir.” He utters. 

Sengoku’s release of the man was slow, but once finished sparing him only a moment before turning on his heels and continuing down the lane. Eyes followed them. He found it unnerving, that everyone would simply watch for a moment before looking away. No one hailed them, or made any contact at all. Almost as if they did not exist. 

They were to receive their lodgings, and receive further orders at the Dock Hotel. Sengoku stared down at the paper, a small hand drawn map and list of orders. The Fleet Admiral had not yet worked with the seasoned Marine sent from East Blue to attend Hope’s Carnival. He was a Captain, that’s all they said of him. He hadn’t even gotten his damn name before he was shoved off with these three and told to “behave”? 

Information had been very thin on the ground when Sengoku awoke to that dog's-smile at two o’clock in the bloody morning. 

He will kill Garp one day, of this he’s promised himself… every hour since. 

**

“What did you just say?!” Tashigi shrieks, offended at the very idea of… of…. 

“Allow me to assist you in dressing for this evening’s Ball, Tashigi-swan.” 

“Absolutely not.” Growled the marine. Seams along each finger of her gloves creaked, threatening to split from the strain in her fists. The Dock Hotel itself offended the outlines of Tashigi’s patience. People rushing in and out of rooms to go every which way. Filling the expansive carpeted hallway with a state of mixed bee-hive and oh-wait-you-have-my-hair-dryer. Now this Pirate…. Sanji? Blonde hair hung over his face, so that he wouldn’t have to look at her? As if she weren’t worth his notice. Why? Because she’s a woman? His simpering voice was weak to carry over all the noise, but he had managed to stand quite close to her. 

Someone went running by with huge stack of clothing, catching the blonde cook in the shoulder. He used the upset to his balance to sidle a little closer to the Marine with beautiful midnight hair. Catching the doorframe almost as if he had meant to nearly run into her face with his chin. He didn’t, but she did flinch. Poor dove. He’d surely not leave her like that. 

Tashigi’s right hand itched along Shigure’s green wraps. “Give me my dress and go, Pirate.” 

“Sanji.” The blonde corrected, using further excuses of crowded hallways to inch space away from between them. Only millimeters remained. Tashigi could smell the sweet cigarette smoke on Sanji’s jacket, similar to the cigars Smoker had insisted upon procuring once they made landfall. That, in addition to onion, carrot, soap and… what was that? Salt? 

Tashigi almost doesn’t understand that the space between them had slowly evaporated. It startled her enough to lift her left hand for a block, jumping back only to find there was a solid hardwood door at her back. Sanji allows her to separate them just enough to lay her hand flat against his strong sternum and waits. 

The dark haired woman can feel the cook though the many layers of his suit. He had taken his heavy coat off, and had been carrying it under his arm. He had actually put it down near the door without her notice. Though her fingers Tashigi felt the ridges of firm muscle that might have been sharp enough to cut through the clothing that covered them. “I’ll scream.” Tashigi’s utters, tongue coming out to wet dry lips. 

“No, you won’t” the cook coos, lips so close to hers that she can actually taste him with each inhale. One hand sliding along the beautiful woman’s coat sleeve before stopping to press warmly over the shivering fingers of her right hand which she’s used to grip the door handle behind. 

**

Chopper’s head hurt, and he was sure that there had been an earthquake. He can’t walk properly on this floor… all tilted over like it was. 

*C-chunk

“Ahhhn.” Chopper had his eyes shut tight, every once in a while making a soft pitiable sound that was barely audible over the general hum of bar-noises. Both hooves pulled down on the brim of his pink hat, fabric held between the strange thumbs he’s developed while in Brain Point, and the toes of his hoof. 

“Come on, now. Can’t feel that bad.” The man behind the counter encourages, “How about I make you some of the House Tea, eh? Might help.” His half concealed chuckle was shared by more than a few of his patrons, all sitting at polished oak bar where he’d propped the little pirate into a neighboring restaurant’s high chair. 

“I really thought you were lying to me, Marv.” 

“Mmm.” Deft hands moved warm water to an enclosed compartment before reaching for a jar of green leaves. Several bottles of dried leaves and berries sat above the taps, each blend important to its task. The woman that leaned on the countertop opposite with her arms crossed, owned the fabulous dinner restaurant next door. Neither of them could imagine why either would need or have a high chair, and when it had been found they’d been struck almost speechless for hours. 

Which served Chopper just fine. 

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhnnnnn!”

**

“Luffy can’t have a date.” Nami announced, turning about from where she’d been steadily pacing backward and forward for the last fifteen minutes. With each turn the elegant crimson and peach fabric fluttered outward, each fold reflecting off the golden surfaces of tiara and earrings like dancing fire on her shoulders. 

Vivi sat on the bed in the center of the room, absentmindedly fastening and re-fastening the fourteen individual button catches on her shall. The blue in Vivi’s dark dress should have clashed with the tinge of jade that existed in her blue hair, only it didn’t. Not at all. She was lovely in the long-cut cobalt that hugged around each hipbone, trailing back like a fish’s tail. The top fit her well, supported on every angle and all skin covered with a high neck. Closed long-sleeves artfully folded material adorned with the whitest of furs they could find on their trip around the district. It will forever enrage Nami to realize she had only been able to get a fifty-percent discount. 

Vivi’s stain-red lips caught between her teeth before she speaks. “He… He might have a date?” 

Nami’s eyes crossed, hand falling to hang limp at her side. “Who would he-?”

Silence fell between the two young women when the door to Vivi’s room was opened. Vivi’s eyes liting as she smiled. 

“Vivi.. ah. akh hm…” muttered the bespectacled man who stood in the doorway looking between them as if they might well attack him. Nami reached up to fasten a cream colored fur over her shoulders, snapping closed a line of little metal hooks. Kohza remained in the doorway, uncertain if he were allowed to look into the room while Nami finished the many layers of her outfit. “If this is a bad time, I can come back.” 

Vivi giggled, they couldn’t be any more descent with everything they were wearing. 

“No, no!” Nami calls. “This is the perfect time. I can’t think about this anymore anyway.” 

Vivi’s continued giggling doesn’t per-say, encourage the man to remain in the room. He looked like he were on the verge of running away at any second. 

“Besides” Vivi remains seated where she is on the bed. Knees bent slightly back to accommodate her dress as well as lean forward to help Nami tuck back a sliver of hair that had wriggled free. “I’ve got to get myself a date.” 

As she turned to leave, Nami is delighted to find that Kohza isn’t much taller than she is. The poor man, trembling in fear. But he had brought no gift, which seemed odd. A catish grin shows the tips of Nami’s white teeth, the redhead rushing forward, leaning in close before the boy has a chance to escape the doorway. Close to rub noses. A heady blush rushes towards Kohza’s ears for only an instant before he’s gone deathly pale. Not allowing any other part of their bodies to touch, except the very tip of her nose, Nami slips around the corner, “Break her heart, and I’ll kill you~” The Strawhat navigator hums into the desert man’s ear. 

 

Upon her exit, Nami’s used her own key to close and lock the door. She doesn’t hear anything from the other side after turning the key, and yes she did wait for a little while, who wouldn’t. It seemed the Royal Hotel was soundproof in the hallways with the doors closed? At least they hadn’t forced their giggling fits on anyone legitimately resting.


	5. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benn knows his way around a swordsman, and Dragon listens to the birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece. All rights belong to Oda.

Benn could hardly feel the chill against his fingers, lifting delicate porcelain to his lips. Steadily drinking. They had moved through all of their favorites, him and Yasopp. Given these two Strawhats a pretty good mix of Roo’s talents in ship’s brewing. Honestly the man’s enjoying himself, but when asked to offer a toast… he remembers. 

“What I have…” a ragged breath escapes the Red Hair Pirate’s first mate. Cold chapped lips stained yellow from the cigarillos he smokes, one after that other as though he’s not aware of the scales of time between having them. A puff of smoke carries out onto the air illuminated by buttery yellow shop lamps. “What I have is not worth drinking for.” 

“Then we can drink to that.” Zoro declares, the young swordsman partaking a steady gaze, jade eyes not looking away. He’s still got a bruise on his face, stitches in his lip. It doesn’t stop him from smiling like that. “To all the things that aren’t worth drinking for.” And the green haired man threw back the next glass. Next to him, Yasopp’s son tips back, lowering his arm back down on the tailor's counter with a satiated sigh. 

“Got-ta cheer up, Benn, lad.” Yasopp gasped after he’d drunk his share. “And you got-ta go! He’ll be expecting to see you.”

“Will he?”

“Where is he anyway?” Zoro mutters on the air. The swordsman’s looking off to the side at the reflected lamplight in pitch windows. Weather he was afraid of being hit in the face again, or was listening for something, Benn wasn’t all that sure. 

Yasopp’s hand appears pouring from a new flask. It’s a red liquor this time, smelling of burnt pine nuts and fire. Benn lifted his own cup and breathed deep, enjoying the subtle essences of hell itself in a shot glass. Usopp had opened his mouth to say something, but Yasopp just waved him on to be silent and take his glass. 

“Where’s who?” Benn asks.

“Shanks.” Zoro says simply turning back to the table and lifting the newest liquor to his lips. He was prepared to slug it back, booze is booze after all. Only, before he can part his lips, one green eyebrow twitches, seeing the Red Hair first mate watching his every move. The look Zoro returns to Benn is a glower, by any and all definition, but looks among pirates won’t tell a rat from a cook, blonde or otherwise. Zoro tracks Benn’s movements before taking in a heavy inhale. The rim of his glass no more than an inch from his nose. “Seems odd that he’s not… around.” 

“Captain’s with Hawky.” Yasopp tells Zoro, refilling glasses for Usopp and himself. Zoro didn’t mind falling behind Usopp, not really, just so long as he wasn’t shown up by the liar.

Benn let out a long breath before lifting the tiny glass, savoring the taste of delicious bourbon malt, brewed for weeks in Alabastian chilies. Across the counter from him Zoro did that same. 

“Mihawk.” Zoro asks, and even though there are obvious tears streaming unwelcome from his eyes. “You said Shanks can beat him, didn’t you?” he asks Benn, blinking and wondering why the fuck Usopp is able to keep drinking like that. 

Benn sighed before taking in a deep drag off his cigarillo. The chilies finally hitting his heart in that special way that makes him want to die just for a moment, shortly followed by a buzz good enough that he doesn’t care. “He can.” Croaked the other first mate.

“So Mihawk is a rival of Shanks’?” Usopp’s refilling their glasses now, and Zoro reaches for more of the red desert in a cup. 

“Not exactly.” Reaching forward for his glass. Benn dranks it down slow, allowing the hot spirit to completely cover his tongue and gums, and his inner-cheeks to burn before swallowing mere drops at a time. 

“Hawky’d never fight Shanks now.” Yasopp tells the Strawhat swordsman, a knowing lilt for the fondness behind his words. “Not seriously. There was a time, though. What is it now, ten years ago?”

“Eleven.” Benn uttered, calloused palms over his scared and pitted face. How best to explain what Hawkeye was to Shanks, when he himself didn’t revel in talking about it. “They were lovers.”

Zoro had just begun to drink, mimicking how Benn had treated the liquor, some of the hottest of spices he’s ever had. Mihawk and Shanks were lovers? It took real effort not to choke on the booze, and it took forever to swallow it down. 

“Ah! Lookie, lookie! Seems he’s good at this~” Yasopp’s digging around in his bag for another flask, his son having been responsible for finishing most of the last. 

Zoro fought his diaphragm from ripping free from under his ribs and beating him to death with his own stomach. The older first mate leering at him, the bastard. As if Zoro’s all that interested. He keeps hearing things too, a low voice from the upper shelves. Luffy’s up there isn’t he. They’re alone in the shop, right? 

The swordsman’s halfway pushed away from the counter to go looking for his new lover when he’s blindsided by a rush of alcohol. Head spinning, the strain on his body over the last few days twisted, and every wound throbbed painfully. The gunshot wound to his leg, especially. Without a word Zoro begins to breathe steadily in through his nose, holding that breath for three beats of his heart, followed by a focused exhale. He repeats this twice before he hears Benn chuckling at him. 

“Straighten your back if you’re going to do it.” 

Zoro’s not at first sure why he didn’t see the movement of Benn coming around the table, but it was only a second before the older has hands laid on him. Acutely startling the badass Strawhat swordsman into letting out such an effeminate shriek that it leaves all four men dumb. 

Footsteps clapped on the stone floor during the heavy quiet, echoing along the rows. A cold ere tossing at what little candlelight there was to be had. “Is everything alright, sirs?” The Tailor asks, coming around a corner with two long dress bags – one held in each hand. 

Zoro had expected Benn to have let him go after making a sound like that, but when the Red Hair first mate pushes forward instead, he stiffens. 

“Aha ha ha!” Usopp’s rolling around on the floor like a god damn fool, and Yasopp’s not any help either. The man is holding his stomach, laughing so hard he’s not actually able to make a sound. 

“Je dois mes mains sur lui , je vous remercie , Monsieur Bironiji” Benn lips brush the three brass dewdrops which hang from Zoro’s ear as he addresses the elderly tailor in a language the swordsman doesn’t understand. 

“Ah! Bon bon.” With a wave, the Tailor turns and leaves them. 

Benn’s hands, calloused and dry from years at sea, find their way up under the swordsman’s coat, pushing the younger into the table and pinning him there. “Where in the Six Blues did you find this shirt?” 

Usopp, still gasping, accepts the hand up that his father offers. “It’s. One of. Luffy’s.” he’s just able to gasp out. The snipers share another round, going quiet again when the first mates don’t draw away from each other. 

Usopp doesn’t dare say a word, and sits watching his father. Yasopp’s eyes never trailing far from his nakama. It was unusual for Usopp, to see Zoro restrained with such ease. Once or twice he made a vague mime to his father, as if to ask if this is really alright, but Yasopp just smiles and pours another round. 

Zoro’s didn’t struggle, because there was no point. Besides, the heady buzz from all their drinking had made him really drunk. Thoughts folding and refolding in on themselves before warping and molding into a state where the green haired swordsman’s hot as hell and in desperate need to get out of his heavier overcoat. Trouble was he couldn’t for the man effectively restraining both his legs and core, neatly averting any form of retaliation. Unless he wanted to reach for a weapon, but Zoro already knew Benn could beat him before he could draw Wado, and that thought grated at him. 

The older sways forward until he’s resting one chin on the Zoro’s shoulder. “Well? Go on.” Blood suddenly rushes into Zoro’s left hip, both kidneys threshing hard from the rush, right down to his curled toes, hot and tingly in the sensations left behind after Benn releases a nerve that had undoubtedly been pinched for days. Said hand was still on Zoro’s body, passing warmly around and forward until laid flat on the stretchy candy-apple-red material over his stomach. Benn applied a solid pressure there, middle finger tracking the dips and hollows of tendinous inscription etched with near perfection into the younger’s abdominal wall; hugging Zoro back into him. “Do what you were gonna do.” Benn pressed a right knee forward into the swordsman’s parallel hamstring, buckling his knee forward while still holding the man upright against him. 

Usopp heard the dangerous sound come out of Zoro’s throat. It was the somebody-woke-me-up-from-my-nap growl that rivaled only Nami’s skills in cruelty and malice to stop before somebody got cut up. 

“Oi-oi.” Yasopp pronounces, filling a glass with a nearly clear liquid. The Red Hair sniper picks up the glass. “Stop fighting.” He chuckles, leaning up over the counter. 

Zoro smells the sweet liquor under his nose, but he’s got his eyes and lips closed tight. Benn was taking him completely apart, one blood vessel at a time. 

But Yassop was patient with the green haired man, waiting for his lips to part and drink. “Aye, slowly with this stuff… atta boy… now relax, and do you’re breathing. Benn knows his way around a swordsman.” The gunner risks Zoro’s teeth to patt his cheek. Usopp snarfling into the back of his hand. 

“I will kill you, Usopp!” 

“Stop that.” Benn admonishes, altering the angle of his knuckles slightly, fingers probing deeply into the softer dosi muscle just under Zoro’s armpit. The entirety of Zoro’s right hand side flushes with an instant chilly numbness, braced quickly with heat as a flush wraps itself around his belly. At that angle of the swordsman’s spine, the usually dormant muscles were being utilized in lieu of stronger ones that were in need of care. An incredibly wonderful feeling, but also intimately painful for its unfamiliarity. 

“Wow.” Usopp’s got an elbow on the bar, watching the veins in Zoro’s neck jerk while the larger man works. “That doesn’t, hurt him, right?” the sniper asks, unsure whether seeing Zoro more of less ‘docile’ is a good thing or not. 

“Na, shouldn’t be all bad. Shanks is big on muscles, and his damn mouth… We never can get a permanent doctor to stay with us very long, so Benn thought we should learn this stuff.” Yasopp cracks his knuckles. “Pressure points.” 

“That’s enough.” 

“No, not yet.” Benn’s grip tightens only enough to convince Zoro of his own limitations, and after a brief breath, the swordsman seems to consent to whatever treatment might happen. 

“Swordsmen are easy, because mostly everything on them hurts, at all times.” Yasopp tells his son, stepping around the counter and up next to Benn to tip a few mouthfuls of pale liquor past the swordsman’s lips. “Navigators are a close second, leaning over a desk all day on a ship out at sea.” Yasopp shook his head humbly. 

“Ahhnn!?” Zoro’s reason gives out on him, only for a moment, enough for him to put effort into moving from between the long oak counter and Benn Beckman. His reward for the escape attempt left him seeing stars. The raven haired first mate chuckling with one palm kneading slow circles on Zoro’s clothed belly, the other hooked low on his tail bone. 

Benn’s nimble digits trailed to the side, because he is curious. It didn’t take long before he’s gently feeling out a long ridge of ruined flesh. The scar Mihawk left on Zoro’s body. Everybody knew about it, a cut that ran from right hip to left shoulder, leaving a grove in the protective bone over his heart. Smooth stitches felt contrasted with pitted warm flesh, still healing, no matter what the gruff man said. Skin that felt just like Shanks’ had the day Benn had to stitch him up after having his arm taken off, cauterizing what couldn’t be saved, and it hadn’t been the only time he’d cut on that bloody stump before they were able to let it alone to heal. 

“You should take care of yourself.” Benn says, leaning close to brush lips along the tanned shell of Zoro’s pierced ear. Usopp and Yasopp were busy arranging shots to take one after the other, paying no attention. Zoro doesn’t quite know what to do or say about this statement, but it hardly mattered.

With practiced grace, Benn relieves the pressure he’d been applying to the grove been left should blade and neck. A heartbeat passes, and it’s the most aggressive gush of internal fluid Zoro’s felt in a while. Momentarily blinded, Zoro lets out an anguished groan before melting into the body supporting him from behind. 

He doesn’t hear the other three men laughing their balls off at him. He’s blacked out by that time. Benn lies the Strawhat swordsman down on a long sofa near the windows, mentally patting himself on the back for his good work. The rookie must have really been wound up to come down this hard. 

Benn Beckman reaches for his full glass, ready to tell Yasopp’s son every embarrassing moment he can remember about his old man. 

**

Dragon’s tall buckled boots, studded for the snow and ice of this most winter of winter islands, rose and fell. Each step a rhythmic crunch towards the next. 

He’d left Hope’s Museum shortly after his little talk with the Owner of Kibo. Shanks and Dragon had always gotten along, in a way, though there is most certainly a diffidence between them. 

To allow blood to be spilt during Hope’s Carnival was one thing… It happened almost every year. Hope’s Peace pretty much a lottery, and nobody expected it of Shanks, but to let it happen on the first night? 

The night of the Ball? 

A woman’s voice drifted down from above. Some woman in one of those high-up rooms in the Dock Hotel. Probably getting the fucking of her dreams, by the sound of it. 

Dragon grinned, one sharp canine trilling for a cold gust that passes over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for the french above: 
> 
> Benn says, "I have my hands on him, thank you, Mister Bironiji." To which the tailor replies. "Ah. Good good."


	6. Just got a lot Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness pushes on the fringes of Robin's thoughts, while Luffy's not sure why this just isn't funny. Sanji's not just any pirate, and Ace is just hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece or any of its related materials.

“I’ll scream.” Tashigi’s glittering eyes were shadowed behind dark hair. Black, beautiful hair that fanned over pale pink cheekbones and below unpierced ears, brushing at her shoulders. Tashigi’s neck arching with a graceful line. 

“No, you won’t.” 

The tremendous noise being made in the red-carpeted hallway was like insulation against the very existence of the chaos. They didn’t exist, those people. There wasn’t a Carnival taking place, or a Ball to prepare for, or a World Government to pay tribute to… 

“Tashigi.”

The woman’s whole body lurches violently, her superior officer’s voice strong and audible, stabbing through the din. A hush in fact follows briefly, before activity resumes again at full volume. Captain Smoker’s boots bring him to stand just a step behind the Strawhat’s blonde cook, narrowed eyes drifting over the unusual closeness of this suited Pirate and his young subordinate. “Sir!” Tashigi’s gloved hand flies to her temple. Back straight as a pole. There were no reluctances to be found in the swordswoman’s eyes, locked upon a seam of wall and ceiling on the opposite side of the hall. 

Smoke drifts from the Marine captain’s two cigars. A rich aroma, heady and thick. The smoke had a greenish tinge to it, wafting up near the ceiling. Smelling of wood and crimson spices. Sanji stared up-and-over his shoulder at the marine officer, unimpressed. He’d been unimpressed with Smoker from the day they’d met – because he honestly thought he looked like an old (used) grenade shoved still-smoking into a marine mantle. Not that Sanji particularly liked the look of a lot of guys. 

The Marine Captain glared daggers back into Sanji’s visible oceanic eye as he addressed Tashigi. “We are expected to attend the opening dinner at seven-thirty this evening.” A sound very akin to a growl stems up from inside the Logia’s throat. “Be ready to leave here no later than six-thirty.” 

“Aye!” Tashigi nods before raising her eyes in a rigid, practiced way. 

Smoker didn’t spare any attention whatever for his young, beautiful Petty Officer, making Sanji frown with valiant hatred. Though regrettably, before he could say one word to the grey-maned captain regarding his appalling behaviors, Smoker had turned. Disappearing between uncountable shoulders, lurid hats and painted masks bobbing up and down and in and out of sight in every direction. 

Sanji’s lips hitched back up his face into a grin that pulls at his curled brow, making it more oval than its usual perfect swirl. The blonde’s hand finds the young swordswoman’s hip, pressing the tick material lovingly before lowering gradually into the space between meito and master. 

It was sudden; the woman’s eyes cutting Sanji’s, driving a knee between them and forcing him back into the crowded corridor. Quivering fingers wrap around Shigure as air catches in contracted lungs. Her heart hammers in the wake of the blade’s violation, nails digging into thick green wraps. 

Sanji prevents himself from ramming into a beautiful redhead that stood head and shoulders shorter than himself. Curling his lean frame and dancing around her on the very tips of his toes. The shorter woman hadn’t noticed though, and tread on Sanji’s polished boots in her hurry to get to the other end of the hall. 

Tashigi’s chest heaved with adrenalin. She wanted nothing more than to duck behind the door into her room. To barricade herself in that ordered, expected environment until she was due in the lobby to accompany her division and captain to the Ball. She could have done this, easily, but she at once realizes two things. The first was: This filthy pirate has her dress! And secondly: A hand has just wrapped around the small of her back. 

“My dear.” The pirate whispers into her ear, all respectable distance between them forgotten. Those long legs had moved so quickly that she’d lost sight of him altogether. When she did realize fully, his whereabouts, he’d gotten right on top of her. Silky hair tickling at her lips. Thin, but solid arms around her, and she’s breathing in sweet smoky musk very much unlike what she was used too. 

Like old encrusted corrals freshly washed by a salty sea. 

Sanji moves into Tashigi, stepping well past any previously considered zones of unfamiliarity. He doesn’t particularly like to have zones with women, anyway. He’d rather be able to treat them all with equal dearity. To caress each swell of breast and delicate hand and strand of soft hair. Half of him considered he shouldn’t do this to the lovely marine, his whiles so much stronger than she. He could have any one of them, even those half-reptile/cat women he’d seen Banban taking back to his rooms. With pale fingertips, Sanji brushes back a few strands of raven hair. Uncovering eyes that were most certainly black, yes, but also tinged with the deepest of greens. The Strawhat cook provided himself pause, and drank in those dark eyes. Swallowed them. Nurturing his conflicted soul on the edges of their very existence before returning back his own gaze. A look of balance, and of masculine safety, promising satisfaction, and above all else, care. 

Tashigi’s eyebrows came together in a heavy scowl. Snarling wasn’t something Sanji was used to from most women. Being slapped in the face, or told to ‘take a hike’ being the more common forms of resistance. “Pirate-!”

“Sanji.” Sanji’s raw voice fell into one deliicate cone of Tashigi’s ear, nipping the sensitive lobe and withdrawing a scant inch to breathe into her. “Sanji, from North Blue.” 

Tashigi’s eyes snapped up, her back stiffening with the realization that she’s been completely immobilized by this man. Heat pooling in her belly, below her belly, making her knees weak before swirling forwards and back like the motions of a rolling sea. “You’re a *Pirate from North Blue.” She accused then, every word infused with venom however disappointed she was to find that her own voice winded her, and she ended in a panted gasp. 

“No.” Sanji whispered, this time his hands came up, moving to the small of her back. Practiced pads pressing gentle rotating touches, kneading and molding seized muscle until hot and supple in his hands. He worked quietly, keeping Tashigi’s eyes in his own, waiting for the woman to want him. To need him. Just as they all do, in the end. “I am the Sanji, from North Blue; the man who will become the Pirate that found All Blue.” 

**

Robin’s gloved hand was warm, held in the crook of Revolutionary Sabo’s arm. They had been walking for some time. Stopping every now and then to revive themselves with a spiced drink or other refreshment being given away on the streets of Hope’s city. There were so many people outside dancing and singing. It was unfortunate, she sighed, to have lived the way she had. If she had not, perhaps she could laugh like some of these children did. But she had not. 

Robin’s eyes drifted up towards the dips and curves of sloping roofs. Each curve like a giant snake undulating into the distance over their heads. There were lights strung up on those chiseled stone eaves, twinkling like the stars they couldn’t see through the clouds. Lanterns hanging from window studs or chimney covers. Streetlamps were plentiful. Light, it seemed, Kibo did not lack. “Do you think,” asked the historian of her companion. “These lanterns will be enough, to keep away whatever darkness is coming?” 

Sabo’s head tilted just a fraction of an inch, his eyes hidden behind his mask and he didn’t turn towards her. 

Lack of a response from the soldier didn’t bother her. She had spent a lot of time alone, after all. She gazes up into the sky, swirls of dark cloud hiding the sun nearly completely. It was already so dark that most everyone had forgotten it wasn’t really much later than mid-afternoon. “Do you suppose,” she muses. “That if the streets ran with blood, would there be an ice skating competition in honor of the dead?” 

Sabo blinked, the left side of his face had been itching, but he’s kind of forgotten about that. He’s looking at the olive touched face of Nico Robin. Her thoughtful painted eyes slanted delicately back, irises kissed with plum only just visible through a curtain of long black lashes. They continued walking in quiet, noticing a party of Royals beginning their procession down a main through-fare. The historian observed numerous flags and sigils on high pedestals, or festooned over previously blank walls of shops and hotels. Swords and shields, exotic animals kept on fine gold chains or trained at their masters’ side in companionable obedience. 

Then there was the Royalty themselves. Elegant women in luscious furs of silk or thick cotton frills. The gentlemen were similar, in long capes of deep crimson or bright blinding yellow and orange, though without skirts in most cases. As an extravagantly dressed woman in pearl studded silver passed before them, Robin saw several swordsmen following. She knew they were swordsmen, because they were carrying swords. Apart from that they wore nothing at all. Robin’s eyes strayed further to other such gatherings. A group of women without shoes following in the wake of a man in violet finery. Another that were clothed, but wore shackles and chains between them. 

“These are prisoners?” Robin asked Sabo as they stood watching the procession lines pass in front of them. 

Sabo squeezes her fingers with his free hand, guiding her forward and away from the main street. “No.” He tells her. “As I understand it, some contests have a high body count, by design. Those who enter these contests use whatever means they can, to beat the odds.” 

Robin’s stomach turned over with the thought. 

“The last man or woman standing can earn a lot. I’m told.” The Revolutionary bit out. “I wouldn’t want to be them, though.” 

“No.” Robin breathed. “I think I would agree.” The snow swirled around them, a dance of frozen lace wrapping round and round them. Sabo guiding her gently forward, Robin allowed herself to lean into his warmth. To let him lead the way under high stone arches grey with ice. Through the unfamiliar streets under the eye of everyone. 

She would trust him, for this night. As was the agreement between them. 

**

Luffy’s eyes open slowly. His face plastered to the dusty wood floor as he comes to the realization that he’d passed out. Jumping to his feet Luffy looks all around, then up and down at the ceiling and floor. His body doesn’t hurt, and his head isn’t trying to cave in on itself. He feels great, in fact. Really great! Wondering if the Tailor’s done with his and Zoro’s clothes yet, Luffy hurries to the balcony rail and swings himself over. He lands on the counter with a hollow *clunk, careful not to kick shot glasses around, because Yasopp, Usopp, and Benn are all still drinking. 

“Sorry~ Sorry~ ”

“Oi-oi, Luffy! Don’t step on that! Like this-” Usopp’s first to take a hold of Luffy’s wandering feet, moving the sole to the edge of the table to preventing his captain kicking metal flasks into all of their faces.

“Where’s Zoro?” Luffy asks, taking tally of only three faces at the counter. 

Benn lets out a long stream of yellow smoke, pointing one thumb behind him towards the waiting area. “He was all kinds of knotted up, so we worked him over a little.” The Red Hair first mate chuckles, fingers around a tall flue of amber liquid. 

Luffy cocked an eyebrow. “Knotted up? Zoro? Worked over how?” 

Usopp’s nose waggled as he snorted into his sleeve. “You should’a seen it, Luffy!” He tried to elate quietly, not wanting to wake Zoro up by laughing to loudly. Especially since he was laughing at him. “Zoro crumpled like a paper doll~! He-he!” 

Both Yasopp and his son doubled up, hands on the table so they don’t fall down onto the floor and roll in circles until they vomit. Luffy watched them. He saw them laughing. It was a funny thing, right? So… how come he didn’t find it funny in the slightest? 

Benn’s skin prickled at the slight downturn of Luffy’s lips. A frown on that boy’s face had always been about as common as Sea Kings sun bathing on the Red Line. Luffy’s straw hat hid a lot of his face, the lamp above him casting a lengthened shadow through its tight straw weave. The red band of the hat blared attention in the quiet shop, relatively quiet but for Yasopp’s and his son’s glasses *tinking every so often on the countertop. 

Luffy’s gotten down off the counter and caught sight of his first mate splayed on his belly on a sofa just the opposite side of the room. The window behind him lit up with hundreds of little butter-yellow lantern specks, too much condensation on the glass to be able to see clearly, but it wasn’t what was on the other side of that window that Luffy wanted to see. 

Yasopp’s clearing away empty flasks, making room for fuller ones while telling Usopp all about the ‘Best of what Roo can make’. Luffy’s not really paying much attention.

Zoro’s face is squashed into his arms, stretched out above his head. A snore coming out of him with long regular breathes. Luffy smiles, chuckling inside when the older shifts in his sleep, exposing a slip of sun-kissed skin between that tight red sweater and black pants he wore. 

Luffy listens to that gentle rhythm of Zoro breathing, the *tap and *clink of glasses, and the wind howling melodically on the other side of wet windowpanes. Walking to the couch, he wedges himself between the back cushions and his swordsman. Zoro warm against him, and Luffy nuzzles into the crook of the older’s neck and shoulder. The swordsman doesn’t wake when his captain’s cold hands wander under his shirt to leech warmth, but his arms come around Luffy regardless. Zoro’s body instinctively holding them close together, nose buried into Luffy’s black locks as he’s breathing him in. Luffy hums deep in his lungs, placing a single soft kiss on Zoro’s warm lips before he’s closed his eyes. 

**

Ace, Marco and Jozu had exited the Roger Hotel by way of Ace’s fire escape, because it provided them the opportunity to avoid the fair. Being caught in the processions on their way to Hope’s Ball would have delayed them probably the entire night, something Jozu didn’t think he could bare. He had already waited until the first official day of the Carnival to commemorate Thatch’s ashes to the icy air. He would wait not one more second if it could at all be avoided. So when Jozu’s feet come to a standstill, his heart hammering in his massive chest. Ace stops in his tracks. He could almost see steam rising from the Diamond-man’s coated shoulders. When he turned to Marco, the older was little better. His phoenix’s eyes wide, and he’s clutching one hand to his chest. 

“Oi? You two old men really don’t have any stamina.” Ace tries to jibe, but the encouraging smile dies on his lips when neither of his Nakama laugh. 

They didn’t even acknowledge that he spoke.

“Who the hell was it?” Marco’s grimacing, lowering himself to rest on his knees in the cold snow. Ace at his side. 

Jozu swallows spit that tastes like blood and bile. His thoughts rolling around and around. He hadn’t expected blood to fall on the first day of the Carnival. He had thought everyone was really getting along – for the first time in a good long while. He turned to his nakama, Ace’s hands lit up; fingers like candle-flames on Marco’s bare shoulders. “Marco.” He muttered. 

The First Division Commander takes his hands form his face. Strained eyes summiting to his fellow Commander. He was tired. Even Jozu knew that. Knew that Marco would have preferred to remain in the hotel curled up with his lover until the end of the world, forget the end of the fair. Though, that did not provide the Zoan enough reason to keep delaying. They were Pirates! Murder and pain and weird Winter Island magnetics be damned. If a pirate doesn’t keep moving forward, they’re as good as dead at the end of a rope. Marco lets out a long-suffering sigh, fingers passing through the tuft of blonde hair on the top of his head. He feels Ace’s flames against his palm as the younger laces their hands together, clutching tight before he’s lifting his partner out of the snow and back to his feet. 

Jozu is standing not far away from them. A few paces at most. The big man leaning one shoulder on a stone wall, facing outward at the lights and life of the city. It was dramatically less busy on this side of the Hotel, the Main Fair being held in the expansive courtyard, but sufficient enough to remind him that they needed to get on. Especially now that the alarm had sounded. Getting to Roger Tower just became immeasurably more difficult. 

Ace watched his lover closely, black eyebrows drawn together in concern. It dawned on Marco then, and he sighed again. Ace’s untrained haki was his only weakness on Kibo. Unfortunately, without it, Ace had no way of knowing that the island had turned over in its grave. The Wolves would be next to appear. Coming out of the frozen darkness beyond the wall. Marco’s heart ripped a little for the memories he had of the demons awake and hungry, prowling the vast white meadows of Hope. Demons that belonged to the Devil’s Own. 

“Let’s go.” Jozu’s boots sent a spray of white powder before him as he’s turned eastward, guiding the way through a maze of narrow alleys and access tunnels. Marco followed after the Third Division Commander, Ace’s fingers clutched desperately in his own hand. 

Ace said nothing as he walked, their hands still connected. He’d seen his older nakama fall silent before of a few occasions. Seen their exasperation that Ace just didn’t ‘get it’, for whatever reason. Hoping he’d find out just what had happened eventually, Ace grumbles behind his teeth. A wash of frigid wind slapped at his freckled cheeks, the howling wind laughing coldly at him.


	7. Burying the Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hina knows. Robin's composed. Hope's Museum is locking up, and Jozu stands before the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece or any of its related materials.

The Dock Hotel is the largest accommodation found on Kibo, and it was filled to bursting. Marine spectators, and contestants, and all their families and extended families. It was always chaos, the night of the Ball on Kibo all by itself one of the busiest and, dare he say, important nights of the entire fair. Red carpet flowed underneath the marine captain like water, fur-lined leather boots slipping and sliding on nothing. Smoker puts one pitted hand against the wall to steady himself, closing his eyes for the spin. His belly churns before tightening, gripping down hard enough to leave not even a thought as to breathing. Smoker’s lips curl around a pair of spent cigar stumps, teeth digging into the sweet paper. He slams his forehead against the wall, leaving an indentation. A bit of blood slips down one side of his face. 

Red seeps into the artfully folded fabric of Smoker’s collar. He’s wearing a suit of dusky white complimented by coal colored seams, fur lining the inside. About his neck a string of little bone-beads clatter together, another on his wrist. They are gifts from one of Kibo children, something he’d received after surviving his first contest. He’s carried them to and from the island ever since, because they’ve always given him luck. 

Turning queasy eyes about the hallway, Smoker sees his direct subordinate standing at the door to her room. A man with blonde hair standing close to her with a dress bag over one shoulder. Tashigi’s usually blank and ditzy eyes were narrowed to severe slits behind those thick glasses she chooses to wear. Shoulders raised in what the Marine captain has learned to recognize as one step before she cuts someone. 

“Tashigi.” 

Petty Officer Tashigi clicks obediently into routine so quickly. Saluting, her eyes up, and back locked straight as her captain approaches on unsteady knees. She would stand there for hours, he knows, because she’d done it before. “Sir!” 

Smoker searches her set jaw, down her smooth pale neck to the woman’s heartbeat visible on her skin, and his stomach fills with ice. Ice and blood. Tashigi’s temple was still going, ticking for whatever reason she has to be upset… but it was not the reason her captain had hoped he’d find. Proven further by her silence, asking not one word about what had happened settles it. Tashigi had not felt Kibo’s shifting magnetics. 

Smoker licks his lips, clamping his eyes for the world continuing to roll like the open sea. The blonde had shifted his stance, and the marine meets a single blue eye belonging to a man he knows is one of the Strawhats. The skinny pirate is smoking a cigarette, looking calm, pompous and suave. He’d not noticed a damn thing either. Smoker allows himself a growl, making his peace with having to deal with such children. “We are expected to attend the opening dinner at seven-thirty this evening.” He says. “Be ready to leave here no later than six-thirty.” 

“Aye!” Smoker barely heard the eager response of his young black-haired petty officer, already turning for the elevator at the end of the hall. 

“Smoker.” Captain Smoker pauses with his finger hovering just in front of the call switch after he’d pressed it. His heart climbing up his windpipe, in real danger of throwing itself up onto the floor at his feet, and he’s not sure he wouldn’t stomp on it if it did. Hina stood behind the large man, in a dress of layered blushing roseate furs and warm pearly silk. A high neck protected the woman’s chest and back from the frigid temperatures of the island, along with a set of gemmed earmuffs neatly clipped to her long hair, up-done in tight braids. 

Smoker cannot turn towards the woman. Arrested with the thought that hiding what he knew was coming from her would be too much to handle, when her warm, soft touch graces his back – sweeping slightly to the side and up each elbow. He shivers. “You know what’s coming, don’t you?” Hina’s smoke-raw voice still sounds sweet, breathed into his ear. Full red lips tickle Smoker’s grey hair. “So do I.” she sighs, “Hina knows.” 

The lift arrives, and as it empties, Hina pushes Smoker inside, driving him against the hand rail before pressing her lips to his. “I’ll dance with you, you selfish bastard.” She’s breathing, biting and dragging teeth over the other captain’s thick lower lip. The grizzled man lets out a moan, wrapping his arms around Hina’s slender body and holding her tight to him. “Just promise you’ll stay with me tonight?” 

The logia shudders for the slide of the lithe woman pressing into him, one hand reaching to cup him briefly before feeling out the lines of his torso through his clothing. To stay with this woman all night? Smoker sighs into the nape of her neck, breathing in sweet tobacco and a unique wildflower perfume from West Blue he’s long known she loves. “I’ll stay with you.” He assures his fellow officer, pulling Hina close to join their lips, melting into each other until the lift doors rattle open at their arrival to the lobby. 

**

Bells chime from some indiscriminate place high overhead, tolling the hour into swirling winter wind. Bartholomew Kuma stands in the snow under Kibo’s dark dark sky. He is a dark dark mass himself, gloved hands hanging still at his sides, the right clutching an old worn bible. There are whispers all around him, echoing off arched stone awnings; borne on the air like ghosts from times better left forgotten, but like all forgotten things – once whispered, becomes soon to be screams of memoria. 

“The body must be buried.” Utters the Revolutionary. Mingling his own almost mechanical drone to the din of fitting voices and weather. With indifference, the bear-like man takes up the solitary body of a fallen pirate. He’d been shot, several times by the look of him. Carving a bloody crest on Kibo. Kuma settled the stiffening corps across one shoulder, turning up the main through-fare for more open country nearer the Wall. 

Bodies can be buried there, at the wall, locals or contestants. There are no enemies of Kibo in the world, only those with and without worth. 

**

Nami can’t stop looking at the clouds, wandering into people who keep stopping to watch the many Royal Processions. It made the redhead glad she was never raised as a noble, like she had wished once upon a time. Yes, it looked incredibly comfortable, secure, and free at the top, but knowing Vivi like she does, Nami understand there are dark, deep responsibilities. Vivi’s tear streaked face, her lip bleeding from having bitten it as an explosion rips through the bay at Whiskey Peak comes back to the Strawhat navigator. Nami had put her arms around the blue haired princess, back then. She vowed she would do whatever it took to make her smile again. 

“Fu-fu-fu.. Actually, it is our swordsman.” 

“Eh? That’s a joke. You’re joking?” 

“Fu-fu-fu-fu!” 

Nami would recognize the voices of her nakama from a mile away, even over the swirling din of spirited dancing and parading and drinking and… oh! Look at that… Betting! 

Next to the ticket gates for a list of contests which took wagers, Nami saw Robin’s dark hair over a beautifully embroidered long coat, silk skirt beneath stemmed with glittering stones. Beside her was a tall man, and Nami frowned, trying to place him. His blonde hair sticking out from under a silk top hat. There’s a mask of woven blue and black feathers on his face, Robin has one too. They’re going as a masquerade couple? She grinned, having not considered this possibility. She could attend with total autonomy as neither Pirate nor Royal. No one would ever know. Gathering the frills of her dress, warm coat snug up under her chin, Nami makes for Robin and her date, sure that she’s seen him before. 

“I would imagine our captain would be interested in competing in some of these.” Robin was saying, as Nami came up behind her. 

Her date leans blue eyes over where her finger had been pointing, his neck blushing most spectacularly before looking away. “I’m walking away now.”

“Fu-fu!” 

“Robin!” Nami and Robin share a hug, the historian still giggling into the back of her hand, the other wound up in her escort’s arms. 

Nami tilts her head, looking up at the man she knows she KNOWS from somewhere. “Who’s your date?” she asks with a coy smile lilting at the corners of her mouth. 

Robing smiles as they step out of line to let others through. She shakes her head, composing herself with years and years of practice behind her every word. “My escort is in need of anonymity.” She says, hand brushing the smooth silk folds of the tall man’s sleeve. The blonde’s brilliantly blue eyes are on Robin behind his mask, Nami sees, fluttering between the two women in what could have been either nerves or trying to decide which had the bigger boobs – either just as likely as the other. 

Nami sighs, sticking her tongue out at her nakama. “No fair!” she whined, before she’s brought her eyes down to the busy streets. Little lights were everywhere, creating a warm blanket over everyone and everything it touched. Maybe it had been the nature of Nami’s life, surviving the sacking of an island, losing her foster mother, becoming a thief, then trading up to becoming a pirate… Whatever it might have been, Nami’s eyes were drawn instinctively away from the lights and colors, rich food and dancing. She saw into the dregged edges, dark alleys lit only with long tapers buffeted by the frozen wind. She saw people ducking in and out of those places, back and forth, exiting one world for another. 

**

Hope’s Museum grew steadily darker as lamps were put out, candles snuffed one after the other. The keepers of the building had come streaming from their precious catacombs mere seconds after blood had been spilt on Kibo. Sullen face after sullen face snapping shut locks and flipping over keys. Tapestries were rolled and secured in special salted cases. They bowed courteously before anyone they crossed paths with, members of the four governing powers of the island. Shanks acknowledged the presence of them all; the Curios, the Fools, those who ran the docks, and the Royals. There were many children also present. There to see Kibo’s glowing red heart brought down from its place under the sun to be carried across the city for where it will remain glittering at the top of the Ballroom’s spire until Hope’s Carnival ends. 

Mihawk’s fingernails dig into the redheaded captain’s wrist, reminding Shanks that he cannot be spacing out. Shanks chuckles, allowing the other to draw fine beads of blood from his arm. The sting feels good, because he’s not near as drunk as he knows he should be – given the circumstances. 

** 

Jozu’s fingers are frozen, gloves flecked with frost, just as the fur fringe of his hood around his face. Marco and Ace toiled through the snow just behind the Third Division Commander. Marco with one arm around Ace’s shoulders. Marco’s fingertips glowed blue in the dark, brushing gently along Ace’s cheek. The younger had not asked what had happened. He knew better. Since his very first days on Whitebeard’s ship, he was taken care of – given every tool and opportunity to learn and grow… if he were mature enough to listen. Listening was the key, and so he put his teeth together and waited. He leaned into Marco’s warm body, and their steps fell into sync. 

One step in front of the other, Ace’s attention slides over the odd wall or doorway – such things becoming fewer and farther between. The fringes of Kibo’s one city had grown according to the needs of the people doomed to live on the harsh Winter Island. Sherpas, trappers, and all manner of wild mountain men living in solitary cabins heated by wood stove. There are no more roads, this far away from the city streets. Every structure just another snow-covered mound in the darkness. 

“State your business!” Came a call out of the dark, and Ace hears the metallic *snick of several rifles falling their hammers. 

“We mean to scale the Wall!” Josu gives answer, one gloved hand cupped around his mouth to be heard over new gusts and biting ice against their faces.

A few figures come out of the dark, barrels still raised. “You can go on back!” Announces a man with a heavy double-barreled shotgun resting on one shoulder. His face is a severed strip of beef. Nose half ripped off at the top, so that a bit of his sinus can be seen. Right eye is gone, leaving a frozen hollow hole. 

The Third Division Commander, a large man than this one, flexes his shoulders, seeming to grow in size. “We are not looking for a fight. We are respecting a fallen nakama! You will let us through.” 

“Not going to happen, friend.” The man repeats, hand returning to the trigger of his weapon. 

Marco shakes his head sadly, brushing tender lips to the shell of Ace’s ear. “I love you.” He whispers. Ace’s body trilling for the feel of his lovers’ warmth on his neck. “Stay close to me,” The phoenix nips a kiss into the younger’s neck. “And don’t let the shadows fool you – yao.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
